Touching the Sky

by Tracie Peterson

  “Mother, how can you encourage such a thing? She hardly knows Mr. Lowe,” Laura interjected. “Not only that, he fought for the Confederacy. Besides,” she said, turning to her father, “has he even asked for her hand?”

  Carissa didn’t wait for her father’s reply. “A great many young men in Texas fought for the Confederacy. But as you keep saying, the war is over. We must put aside our differences.”

  “And you think to accomplish this new diplomacy by marrying a Union girl to a Confederate boy?” Laura asked.

  “Laura! You needn’t speak in such a manner to your father,” Mother stated.

  Carissa didn’t let this stop her. “He’s no boy, and I’m no girl. We are adults and quite capable of knowing our own hearts.” Carissa picked up her fork and stabbed at a piece of melon. “Besides, I’m neither a Unionist nor a Confederate. I have no politics—it simply isn’t fitting for a woman. Just ask Mother.”

  Laura knew her mother had clearly avoided concerning herself with such matters. Asking her would be akin to asking the cat. Even the black and Mexican servants had more of an opinion on the affairs of state.

  “Girls, there is no need to become agitated,” their father declared, replacing his empty coffee cup on its saucer. “Now, if you ladies will excuse me, I am already late for an appointment.” He got to his feet, leaned over to kiss their mother on the head, then threw a smile at the girls. “Be useful to your mother.”

  Laura nodded, but Carissa ignored him and appeared completely captivated by a basket of croissants. Esther, a former slave who had come to them from a plantation north of Austin, entered the room and began to clear away Father’s dishes.

  “Esther, please ask Cook to meet with me for a few minutes in the library.” Mother got to her feet. “I must go over the menu and see that we have everything ready for the ladies.”

  “Yes’m.” Esther’s dark eyes met Laura’s gaze. “Miss Laura, ya gonna want mo’ tea?”

  “No, thank you, Esther. I’m completely satisfied with this.” Laura pushed her plate back a fraction of an inch.

  “How ’bout mo’ tea, Miss Carissa?”

  “No. It’s much too strong.”

  Esther nodded and returned to the kitchen. Carissa sighed and began to butter the croissant she’d chosen. “I hope that when I marry I can move far from here. This town is dreadful. I think I’d like to live in New Orleans. I hear it’s positively wonderful there. The ladies never lack for the latest fashions and the houses are much grander.” She put down the knife and bit into the bread.

  “The grass always looks greener over in someone else’s yard,” Laura said. “Honestly, Carissa, I don’t know why you worry about such things.”

  “A woman should concern herself with the future, Laura. Just because you’re content to sit here as an old maid and care for our aged parents doesn’t mean I am.”

  “Our parents are hardly aged.”

  Carissa put down the croissant. “They are in their fifties. That’s old.”

  “They are both quite healthy,” Laura corrected. “And as far as I can tell, do not require my care.”

  “So does that mean you will marry?” Carissa asked. “Have you a beau?”

  Laura felt more than a little exasperation with her sibling. “You know very well that I do not. If God should have a mate for me, I am confident He will send Him along.”

  “Oh goodness, you are such a goose. God doesn’t do things like that,” Carissa said, shaking her head. “He’s much too busy. God only handles important things.”

  “Such as knowing the number of hairs on our heads?” Laura asked with a questioning expression.

  Carissa jerked her chin upward. “Of course He knows that. God knows everything. But there is an entire world out there for Him to watch over. Do you truly suppose He cares about whether or not you find a beau?”

  Laura nodded. “I do. I believe God cares about all the details of our lives. Look at the Bible. There are many stories of God bringing people together for marriage.”

  “But those were important people,” Carissa countered. “Goodness, Laura, one would think you were the Queen of Sheba the way you talk.”

  The clock in the hall chimed eight, and Carissa gently dabbed her mouth. “I simply must go. I have to make myself ready in case Malcolm arrives early.” She got to her feet. “And if you are seriously thinking about getting a beau, sister, I would suggest you start dressing in brighter colors. That brown doesn’t suit you at all.”

  Laura glanced down at her well-worn gown. The yellow lace trimming and gold buttons added very little in the way of decoration, but still Laura thought the gown suitable. Besides, she really didn’t care what Carissa thought about her fashion sense.

  Three hours later, Laura found herself enduring the final discussions of the church ladies her mother had invited over. Mother had surprised her by suggesting that as women married to Unionists, they should reach out to embrace their sisters of the Confederacy. Her mother never dabbled in politics, but apparently someone had put the notion in her mind.

  “The sooner we are all of one accord again, the sooner life will return to normal,” Mother stated. The women nodded in silent agreement.

  “We’ve all lost loved ones, and even though this war was their fault,” Mrs. Brighton announced, “I am the forgiving sort. I do believe, however, that we should perhaps limit our involvement to those whose husbands have taken the ironclad oath.” The women around them nodded. Apparently grace only extended so far.

  “Enough about that subject. I do believe Mrs. May has received word from a cousin in France that they are to receive a shipment of fabric for the store. I, for one, am very excited about this,” Mother told the group as the conversation became less serious. “I wonder if we might consider a formal occasion—perhaps a ball or other party—where we can bring everyone together. Nothing does a lady’s heart quite so much good as a ball.”

  “I think that idea is perfect,” Mrs. Cole replied. She nibbled at a piece of pastry and sighed. “A wedding party would be even better. You know how it uplifts the spirit to share in the blessing of a new couple’s nuptials.”

  The other dozen or so women murmured their agreement. Laura tried to smile when their gazes fell upon her. Mother quickly turned their attention elsewhere, however. “My Carissa may well be announcing an engagement any day. In fact, her beau came to call just before our meeting. A wedding in the near future would be quite possible.”

  “But you wouldn’t want to rush it too much. People are given to talk,” Mrs. Brighton said, leaning forward. “A lengthy engagement is always appropriate.”

  “Pshaw!” Laura’s mother declared. “We have just survived a war. I believe etiquette can be imposed upon in such a case. Besides, my Carissa has never been one for waiting. I believe I could have her married by summer’s end.”

  “It would help if the beau in mind would propose first, don’t you think?” Laura asked.

  Her mother threw her a glare, then continued. “I feel confident that a proposal is coming soon. My Carissa has said as much.”

  Laura sighed. The conversation was draining her of her last bits of energy. The heat was so intense she felt positively soaked from perspiring, and the humidity only served to add to her discomfort. She longed for a nice tepid bath or a swim.

  Seeing that most of the women were engaged with their refreshments, Laura rose. “If you’ll please excuse me.” She offered no other explanation for her departure and simply walked from the room.

  Making her way outside, she prayed there might be a refreshing breeze and was rewarded with a wisp of wind. She dabbed her neck with a handkerchief and prayed for the temperatures to cool. Walking the length of the yard, Laura spied her sister and Malcolm Lowe standing near the carriage house. When her sister threw her arms around Malcolm and allowed him to embrace and kiss her, Laura very nearly called out in protest. Instead, she fell back and waited to see what might happen next.

  When the kiss seemed t
o go on for an unseemly amount of time, Laura made her way to the couple. “Excuse me, but such a display is hardly proper.”

  Carissa pulled away and laughed. “Of course it’s proper. Malcolm just proposed and I have accepted. We are to be married.”

  Laura forced a smile as she gazed at her soon-to-be brother-in-law. “I congratulate you both; however, you are not yet married. Mother would have a fit of apoplexy if she were to see you.”

  “Mother will be delighted for me. You should be, too.” Carissa smiled like the cat who’d found a bowl of cream. “You shall be my maid of honor, and we shall both have new gowns. Won’t that be wonderful?”

  “Yes. Well, be that as it may,” Laura said, trying her best to refrain from rebuking, “it might serve you better to go and make your announcement. Mother would probably be pleased to have such a thing declared in the company of her dear friends.”

  “Oh, let’s,” Carissa said, pulling on Malcolm’s arm. “We haven’t spoken to Papa, but I’m certain he will approve.”

  The twenty-nine-year-old former Confederate lieutenant shook his head. “You go on ahead. I have to be back to my duties. I am hopeful about a position with the flour mill. I see them this afternoon.”

  “Oh, if you must,” Carissa said, looking sad.

  Laura took hold of her sister’s arm. “We mustn’t delay him. Jobs are important, now more than ever. If you are to be a well-kept bride, Malcolm must be able to provide. Good day to you, Malcolm.”

  Malcolm walked in the opposite direction and made his way to the street. He picked up his step as the road descended from the bluff. His mount was being shod; while being afoot was not his desire, the smithy had no other horses to lend out.

  He thought of what he’d just done and smiled. Proposing to Carissa Marquardt would serve his purpose well. In fact, it would serve many purposes. He was anxious to settle down and at least put on the pretense of being a decent citizen. He wouldn’t—and couldn’t—sign the ironclad oath, but by uniting himself to the Union-supporting Marquardt family, he would be allowed in a ring of society that he might never have known. He figured the citizens would be more forgiving, as well. Attaching his name to that of the Marquardts was nearly as good as having worn blue in the war.

  “And with any luck at all, their wealth will serve my higher goal,” he said to himself.

  Skirting the busier streets, Malcolm approached a shellcrete blockhouse, pleased to see that the door was open, awaiting his arrival. He stepped inside and pulled off his hat. He drew out a handkerchief from his coat pocket and wiped his neck and forehead before proceeding into the front room, where seven men were gathered.

  “Gentlemen,” he said with a slight nod. “I’m glad you could make it today.”

  One of the men, someone Malcolm knew only through his former sergeant, rose. “I have to be leaving soon, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to get right to it.”

  “I think that is wise,” Malcolm agreed. “We don’t want to attract attention to ourselves. We very much appreciate your willingness to aid us in our endeavors against the Union.”

  “It is my great pleasure,” the man said. “I believe my newspaper will be more than happy to publish no end of stories that defame the Union and their thieving men who masquerade as honorable soldiers. Now tell me what you’d like us to do.”

  Malcolm smiled. “If you will take your seat, I will expand on our ideas.”

  “See? Didn’t I tell you wonderful news was coming soon?” Agatha Marquardt declared at her daughter’s announcement.

  Laura remained at the door of the room, not wanting to become trapped among the women once again.

  “I’m so happy I just might start to cry,” Carissa said, hugging their mother.

  “Oh, my dear, we are so happy for you,” Mrs. Brighton began. “But your mother tells us that your young man was a soldier for the Confederacy. Has he repented of that action?”

  Carissa nodded in firm assurance. “Oh, he is so very sorry for the past. He only joined up because his papa, God rest his soul, had pleaded with him to do so. He couldn’t very well deny the man his dying wish.”

  “Of course not,” Mrs. Tennyson interjected. “There were many such cases, I’ve heard Mr. Tennyson say. Bless those poor boys who went to war with nothing more than a heart to honor their fathers and mothers.” She shook her head and gave a tsking sound.

  “Who are his people, dear?” another of the ladies asked.

  Carissa looked quite sorrowful. “Oh, it’s a tragic tale. He was an only child. His sweet mother nearly died giving him life. They were originally from South Carolina, but moved to Texas when Malcolm was very young. Unfortunately, his mother died shortly thereafter, and his father raised him all alone. Then just as the war was starting, his beloved father died and left him alone in the world. He has no other kin.”

  “Tragic indeed!” Mrs. Tennyson replied and the others nodded in unison.

  Laura knew there was no way to prove or disprove this story, but she wondered about its truthfulness nevertheless. Malcolm always seemed far too secretive to suit her. Carissa was, in many ways, still a child. She would turn nineteen come November, but Laura wasn’t sure maturity would follow. After all, it hadn’t exactly embraced Carissa the first eighteen years. It was this immaturity that left Laura to fret for her sister. In many ways she was naïve and far too trusting. When things went bad for her, Carissa always found someone else to blame.

  With a sigh, Laura shook her head. She longed to talk some sense into her sister’s head, but Carissa thought Laura was jealous of her relationship with Malcolm. And perhaps she was right. As the eldest, Laura did find it rather offending that her sister should marry first. After all, Laura had always been quite popular with the young men in Corpus Christi. She had attended many a party where men spoke of love to her. Then the war had taken them away—never to return.

  So many of the boys were gone now. And those who had survived . . . well . . . they had changed. They weren’t the carefree young men who had marched off to fight the Yankees so long ago. Worse still, they weren’t yet forgiving of those families who hadn’t supported the cause. Families like the Marquardts.

  Laura stepped into the hallway, her gaze still fixed on the scene in the parlor. She felt as if she were watching a tragedy—perhaps one of Shakespeare’s tales of corruption, deception, and woe. She couldn’t shake the feeling that this was a mistake. Worse still, she knew that if she voiced her concerns . . . no one would care.

  4

  June passed into July, the warmth and humidity rivaling the tropics. Brandon was glad that he would soon be rid of the responsibility to wear a uniform. The layers of clothing required by the army made the heat nearly impossible to endure.

  “So you’ll soon be a free man,” Major Justin Armstrong declared, looking over the report Brandon had just placed on his desk.

  “Very soon,” Brandon replied. “I was just thinking how I won’t be sorry to shed this uniform and return to Indiana.”

  “So you’ve decided to go back home?”

  Brandon cocked his head to one side and pretended to contemplate the question. “Well . . . in truth, I haven’t completely decided what I’m doing.” His thoughts rested on the image of Laura Marquardt that had haunted his dreams of late. “I have to say that my time in the army has given me a new perspective on life in general. As you know, I greatly enjoy working with horses, and my father’s horse breeding farm has produced some of the best Thoroughbreds around. And I did attend college with a mind to perhaps teach.”

  “You could teach or raise horses here in Texas,” Justin countered. “This is a vast state with a great deal of cheap land. In the years to come the railroad will connect across this state and property values will increase dramatically. Why not at least invest in some land here to sell for a profit later?”

  “It’s a thought, I suppose. But I’m not fond of this heat. We knew warm days in Indiana, but weeks of temperatures hovering near a hundred degrees we
re not the norm for us. Down here folks just seem to take it in stride. It’s given me a better understanding of why so many businesses practice the Mexican tradition of the siesta in the heat of the afternoon.”

  “Not all of Texas is this hot. Up north there are some lush green spreads, and to the east there are wondrous forests. If you venture west you would find the air considerably drier—though I daresay the temperatures would most likely remain high in the summer months. Still, all in all, this is a great state for raising animals. I’ve been doing some study on it. Cattle thrive here, and horses would no doubt do just as well.”

  “What about the Indian trouble? I hear up north the people are dealing with attacks from the Kiowa and Comanche. And out west it’s the Apache, as well.”

  “Yes, but now that the army is returning to the western posts, the Indian wars will soon be a thing of the past. Those savage renegades will be moved onto reservations, where they can be watched and kept under control. I wouldn’t let fear of Indians keep me from investing in property here in Texas. In fact, I haven’t. I purchased a large parcel of land for my family and plan to bring them out sometime next year. If not sooner.”

  “That’s quite a commitment,” Brandon said.

  “Susannah is all for this. She believes the boys will benefit by getting away from the city. Our daughter might not like it, but she’s only two and can’t raise too much fuss over the move.” He grinned. “I would love having a neighbor like you close at hand. You really should think about it. I know there are some properties available near mine that are yet unspoken for.”

  “I’ll think about it.” Brandon thought again of Laura Marquardt and decided to pose a question. “What do you know about Stanley Marquardt and his family?”

  Justin leaned back and thought for a moment. “Strong Union supporter with a wife and two or three daughters.”