Owen Family Saga Box Set: Books 1-3

by Ward, Marsha

  “You’re only getting the half of it. It kicks inside too.”

  Heppie took back her hand and lay in silence for a long time. Was Hannah annoyed because she had asked to feel the baby? Did her anger come from not knowing if this was Robert’s baby or that horrible man’s? Perhaps all pregnant women got bothered, just from their condition. I hope not! Life can be disagreeable enough, without feeling out of sorts all the time.

  “Hannah?”

  “Um?”

  “I hope you won’t get riled at me for asking you something. I really want to know about it, and I don’t want to ask Ma.” She paused, and finally asked in a rush, “How did you know you were with child?”

  Heppie listened to Hannah taking in air in short, sharp puffs. Maybe she wouldn’t answer, given the circumstances. Maybe she didn’t want to remember that time. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked, she thought.

  Just when Heppie was about to turn over and go to sleep without an answer, Hannah spoke. “I threw up a lot. My breasts swelled and hurt. When I was … violated, I worried that I might get pregnant. When I missed the monthly, I knew for sure I was.” Hannah paused. After a while, her voice came again, barely audible. “I didn’t have a chance to find someone to help me in St. Louis.”

  “Help you?” Heppie stopped breathing.

  Hannah’s voice sounded hoarse. “It crossed my mind to destroy the baby. I knew it was a terrible sin to think about that, Heppie. I couldn’t help it.”

  “Oh Hannah!” Heppie’s heart lurched. She wanted to vomit. How could her sister even think about getting rid of her baby? Maybe her mind wandered that way because she thought the child was the spawn of that monster?

  “Working on that awful mending and sewing, I didn’t have time or energy to find someone. I didn’t know how to find someone. Before I could do anything, we left St. Louis.” Hannah fell silent.

  Heppie didn’t want to say anything. She’d told George she would go west to take care of Hannah, and she hadn’t even known the terrible times her sister had been going through. Shame ran through her body like a torrent of hot blood.

  Hannah surprised her by continuing.

  “I wondered what roots or weeds I could eat to be rid of the baby. But when Robert found out I was pregnant, he insisted that it’s his baby. What if it is, Heppie? I couldn’t kill my husband’s child!” Her quiet breaths went on for a time. At last, she said, “He’s almost convinced me to love it.”

  “Even if—”

  “Even if it’s not truly flesh of his flesh. Whatever it is, half of it comes from me. I must love at least that half, he says.”

  Heppie lay beside Hannah, partly ashamed that she had no such quandary in her life. She touched her swollen breasts. She cupped her belly. Despite her sister’s tumultuous situation, she let joy leap into her heart.

  Chapter 21

  Robert looked around the Ratón Café. It was a light and airy place, with the morning sun shining in through clean windows. Red checked oilcloth covered several tables arranged in rows. He patted Hannah’s hand, which was tucked into the crook of his arm. “Judging by the appearance of this place, the food should be nourishing, at the least.”

  Hannah smiled, and Robert’s heart lurched at the brilliance of it. “Do you suppose they can put tables together for all of us?”

  “I’ll find out,” he said, and letting loose of her hand, he went in search of someone to ask. Nearby, he found a middle-aged waitress, who wore a gingham checked apron that matched the tablecloths. She smiled, and he said, “Good morning. We have eight people coming for breakfast. Can we move a couple of tables together to seat all of us?”

  “That’s easy enough done,” she replied, and went toward two large tables in the back of the room. “These will set up against each other, sir.” She looked up at Robert. “Would you mind lending a hand?”

  “I don’t mind at all,” he said, and helped arrange the tables and chairs until the waitress was satisfied.

  “There now,” she said, standing back to view the place settings. “There’s room for ten, but I can take away the extra chairs on the ends.”

  “We might have nine people, so leave them be,” he said. “Thank you for your help.”

  “My pleasure.” The waitress turned at the creak of the front door opening. “Are these your people?”

  Robert looked. “That’s them.” He beckoned to Mrs. Bingham and the others, and they all sat down.

  When they had given their food orders, Robert stood up and spoke to the group.

  “Most of you know James Owen is here in Trinidad.”

  Almost everyone nodded. Ned scowled.

  “He’s had some hard luck lately, but he used to be a neighbor.” Robert paused to look at the faces around the table. He went on. “We should look out for him. I propose asking him to accompany us to Albuquerque.”

  Ned swore, and Heppie clicked her tongue at his indiscretion in mixed company. Robert held up a hand against the tumult of replies.

  “He knows the trail from here to Santa Fe, so he’ll be of use to us. He’s also a good hunter, if I recollect rightly.”

  Mrs. Bingham said, “It’s the Christian thing to do, to give him the comfort of our company.”

  “Does he want our company?” George asked, eying Ned.

  “We’ll have to ask him that.” Robert looked down at Hannah, and up at the group again. “His wife died not long ago. We can at least offer him the chance of a new start in a new place.”

  “He’ll be in the way,” Ned muttered.

  “He’ll be an extra gun when we go through Indian country past Santa Fe,” Robert replied. “Think on it, but don’t take too long. When he comes to breakfast, I want to invite him to go with us.”

  After the food came, Robert polled the group. Almost everyone agreed readily. George looked at Ned again, but eventually nodded. Jessie whispered a reply that Robert chose to interpret as yes. Ned’s objection was voted down. Robert grinned. He’d always liked James Owen, and the prospect of having him along for the rest of the journey warmed his soul.

  ~~~

  The next thing James knew, he awoke—ravenously hungry—to light filtering through the window, and he knew God had answered his petition for rest.

  The knowing lifted his spirits, and when he had washed up, he sought out the proprietor. Philo moved a broom about the floor of his store.

  “Philo, where can I get breakfast?”

  “Good morning, my boy. The only decent place is the Ratón Café down the street. It’s clean, and the grub’s good. Go out the door and bear left. You can’t miss it.”

  “Is that where the Binghams…where the folks who came in last night went to eat?”

  Philo nodded. “They’re heading to Albuquerque, they told me. Joining a relative, I hear. Now then, have you made plans?”

  James scratched his cheek. His week-old beard itched. “I only want to find a place that has work for me to do. Hard work will help ease me, I reckon.”

  “What can you do?

  “Break horses. Work cattle. I’m a crack shot, rifle or pistol.”

  Philo resumed sweeping. “You ever think of becoming a lawman?”

  “It hadn’t crossed my mind.”

  “There are plenty of rough towns hereabouts. You could find work along those lines easy enough, my boy.”

  James’s stomach growled. Loudly. He gave a rueful chuckle. “Thanks for the talk, Philo. I’d best find that café.”

  The man waved him out the door. James walked along the wooden planks that butted up to the storefronts, slowing slightly as he approached the café’s sign. He tried to swallow, but his throat felt like sandpaper rasping together.

  James, he told himself, Mr. Bingham’s in there, fixin’ to set you straight for hurtin’ Jessie. He came to a stop and put a hand against the clapboard wall next to him. He leaned on it, his head drooping, shoulders bent. Maybe now she’s got herself pledged to Heizer, her pa will go easy on me. He raised his head and stared into t
he distance toward the stair-step mountain, but his eyes refused to focus. It would be hard to eat a meal comfortably with the Bingham family in the same room. I reckon I owe them the courtesy of tryin’, he thought.

  James got himself under control and entered the café. Half the tables were occupied. Two others had been put together to accommodate the Bingham party. Two chairs at the long table remained empty. Mr. Bingham was nowhere in sight.

  Upon seeing James, Mrs. Bingham stood up and beckoned to him. “Come over, you dear young man. Sit with us.”

  He moved in that direction and put his hand on the back of one of the empty chairs. “I don’t want to intrude on your kin, Miz Bingham.”

  “It’s no intrusion, James Owen. What would your mama say if I let you sit apart, all alone, when I was here to make you welcome?” She looked around the room and took her seat. “No, indeed! You just set yourself down.”

  James hesitated, confused that neither empty place had silverware or food at it. He said, “I don’t want to take Mr. Bingham’s seat.”

  Mrs. Bingham’s face went from smiles to a pinched look and back to a forced cordiality in a matter of seconds. James waited, uneasy at not knowing the cause.

  Mrs. Bingham looked down at her lap, then up at James. “Mr. Bingham is no longer with us,” she said in a low tone. “We miss him a great deal, but must go forward, doing him honor with our courage in continuing on.”

  The bottom seemed to drop out of James’s stomach. Joseph Bingham, dead?

  “You must sit down, young man. You look quite overcome.”

  James pulled out the chair with shaking fingers and sat, surrounded by the oppression of death. Would he never be free of it? He looked up. “I’m very sorry to hear it. Last thing I knew, Mr. Bingham was getting better.”

  Jessie cleared her throat, and James realized too late that he had sat down beside her.

  She said, “He sickened shortly after you left. It was a blow to us all.” A rattlesnake dripped less venom than Jessie’s voice.

  Mrs. Bingham glared at Jessie, but jumped back into the conversation. “James, I want to reacquaint you with my family. We have added several members.” She gestured to Robert and Hannah. “You may remember my eldest daughter, Hannah. This is her husband, Mr. Robert Fletcher.”

  Robert grinned. “James and I are acquainted.”

  “Rob,” James said, nodding.

  Hannah, who was clearly expecting a child in the near future, wore a scarf draped along the front of her dress, but it did not successfully hide a prominent bulge. She murmured, “Hello, Mr. Owen.”

  James nodded again, saying, “Miz Fletcher.”

  Mrs. Bingham continued her introductions by motioning to the young woman next to Hannah. “You may recall my second daughter, Hepzibah, twin to Hannah. She is the wife of Mr. George Heizer.”

  George’s mouth tightened as he pressed his lips together, but he gave a slight wave of his hand in James’s direction.

  James nodded to George. Blood was thicker than water. The man would back his brother Ned to the grave.

  Mrs. Bingham gestured to the gangly youngster seated to her right. “Possibly you remember Lucas, although he kept to himself when you were … calling at the house.”

  James craned his neck to see the boy and said, “Luke.”

  “I don’t know if you remember Mr. Ned Heizer. Jessie has recently accepted his proposal of marriage.”

  James growled his acknowledgement, “Heizer,” but didn’t look at Ned. He didn’t want to spoil his appetite, now that his stomach had returned to normal.

  The waitress appeared at James’s elbow and laid silverware, a cup, and a napkin before him. He gave her his order for eggs and a stack of pancakes. She poured him a cup of coffee, and he took an exploratory sip, surprised at the genuine aroma that arose from the blue enameled cup.

  “I ain’t had real coffee since, well, since the war.” He brushed a drop of the hot liquid from his moustache. “It’s been a long time,” he said, and took another sip.

  When the waitress had returned to the kitchen, Mrs. Bingham spoke again. “My son Maxwell left the Valley not long after you folks did. He established himself in a town in New Mexico Territory.” She paused, fussing a bit with her food. “Some months ago we received a letter asking that my husband and family come to join him. He did not know his father had died.”

  James looked up from his coffee, but didn’t reply.

  “Life became hard to bear in the Valley. We worked to leave for some time, then matters were—” She stopped and looked fleetingly across the table at her daughter, Hannah, and took up her story again. “We left quite suddenly in our farm wagon, and have been taking on odd jobs as we traveled.” She sighed and put her fingers to her forehead.

  Since Mrs. Bingham seemed exhausted by the strain of her narration, Robert added, “I had a bit of trouble with the Yankees, and we thought it best for all of us to leave.”

  “You said you had one wagon?” James said. “I counted three when you drove into town. One of them has an odd setup with the team.”

  “Our luck changed in St. Louis,” George said. “We worked jobs and earned enough cash to outfit ourselves.” He shrugged. “That’s my team with the odd rigging. I lost a horse on the prairie.”

  “That’s lamentable,” James replied. “Clever rigging, though. Does it work?”

  “It does the job so far.”

  Robert leaned forward. “James, I spoke with the family before you arrived for breakfast. I understand you know the trail to Santa Fe and where to find game. We’ve all agreed …” He stopped, looked at Ned, then backtracked. “We voted to invite you to go to Albuquerque with us.”

  The waitress appeared, and James waited while she put his food on the table. He took a bite of eggs, put down his fork, and chewed.

  After he swallowed, he said, “I can’t see my way clear to go with you. I have a job waiting for me back yonder, some colts I promised to finish breaking.”

  George gave half a smile, his left eyebrow pointing toward the tin ceiling. “Would that horse-breaking job be for Angus Campbell?”

  James rubbed his mouth in surprise, then smoothed down his moustache. “It would.”

  “I’m sorry to take bread out of your mouth, Owen. When we passed through, Mr. Campbell mentioned the colts, and I said I could do that task for him. The job pushed our schedule back some, but we hope with fair weather we’ll reach Albuquerque without mishap.”

  “Did you finish up the job to his satisfaction? All the colts are gentled?”

  “Yes,” George said. “He was a pretty hard taskmaster, checking on me all the while I was working.”

  “Does he think ill of me?”

  “Doesn’t seem to. Mr. Campbell figured you were delayed by storms. He was glad the job is done and his wife has a saddle horse to ride.”

  James speared the stack of pancakes with his fork and cut into it with his knife. While he worked at the food, he considered. I have nothing to show Pa to make up for laying into him. Ma has plenty to keep her busy, and I’m not bringing her new kin after all. His stomach clamped down on the grief that arose momentarily, and he took a steadying breath to clear his head.

  When he let out the air, he laid down his knife and said, “It appears I’m at liberty. I reckon I can go with you to Albuquerque.”

  ~~~

  “George,” Hepzibah whispered when they had finished the meal, “I need to do a little shopping.”

  “Didn’t you get your dress goods yesterday?” he asked, sliding her chair back from the table.

  “Yes, but I discovered I need some other things.”

  “Like what?”

  “Not here,” she whispered, squirming a little under his gaze. “I’ll show you in the store.”

  George accompanied her back down the boardwalk to the mercantile area of Philo’s hotel. “What do you have such a pressing need for, Mrs. Heizer?”

  “Flannel.”

  “Flannel?”


  “And muslin.”

  “Flannel and muslin?”

  “And maybe some linsey-woolsey.”

  “I cannot guess what you have in mind, Heppie.”

  “Clothes. Special, tiny clothes.”

  “No!” George looked shocked.

  “You’re going to be a father!”

  “No!” repeated George, and fainted.

  Chapter 22

  When James left the café, a small brown man rose from the boardwalk across the street and came toward him. He was attired in loose white trousers and a tunic-like shirt, covered with a brown, everyday serape for warmth. When he came up to James, he took off his wide-brimmed straw hat and gave a slight bow. James stopped and nodded to the man.

  “Señor, please, venga conmigo.” He pointed down the street.

  James hesitated, not sure what the man wanted. He tried a word or two of Spanish, knowing it was poorly spoken. “Quiere habla with me?” He tapped his mouth and hoped for the best.

  The man cracked a huge smile and nodded.

  “Venga conmigo, por favor.” The man beckoned James to follow him.

  “No…hablo…bien,” James said, but the man only tugged on his sleeve, smiling and gesturing. “I go with you?” he asked.

  “Sí, señor. Queremos hablar con usted.” The man dropped James’s sleeve to move both hands in quacking duck fashion.

  “I’ll come,” James said. Somebody wanted to talk with him.

  The man moved in front of James and led off toward the center part of town. Soon the bell tower of an adobe church came into view. A group of brown-skinned men were gathered in front of the church, watching his approach. A vague feeling of apprehension stirred in his belly, but it disappeared as beaming smiles appeared on the men‘s faces.

  The sheriff was among the men, but he hung back, as though this wasn’t his show. James nodded to him anyway.

  “Sheriff.”

  He nodded back, most solemnly. “Señor Owen.”

  James recognized the priest who had come to give last rites to Amparo. The man gently pushed through the crowd and came to stand before James.