by Caryl McAdoo
“Excuse me? What’s the other way around?”
“When Levi Baylor and Wallace Rusk rode into Bold Eagle’s peace camp, I still called the war chief my father, but he traded me and my mother to Levi for his long gun and painted pony and some other stuff.”
“No! It couldn’t be! That’s fiction…a story May Meriwether concocted.”
“No, ma’am, well, she fictionalized the true account a bit, I suppose, but it’s pretty much as it was. My Aunt May wrote The Granger first—well, after she was in Texas; it was her first. Then The Ranger, but those two books are more fact then fiction.”
“You have got to be jesting! Are you telling me that you’re the Charley Nightingale? The four-year-old son of Sassy, the boy rescued from the Comanche?”
“One and the same. Yes, ma’am.”
“Oh, I can hardly wait for Claudia to get back and tell her! Let me introduce you. Will you?”
For the third time, he chuckled that day. When had he last known any mirth? He honestly couldn’t remember. “Of course, you may.”
“Tell me, Charley, what are you doing this far north and on a train heading to Albany?”
Perhaps he’d said too much, but then this lady didn’t know Lacey Rose. Except she was in the book, too. Though mostly only getting herself born. “Family matters, ma’am. And if you don’t mind. I’d rather not say more.”
“Oh, of course, how rude of me. I’m sorry. I certainly didn’t mean to pry.” She glanced behind her. The lady’s sister walked toward the table again. The minute she reached it, Miss Pauleen jumped right into her introductions. “Claudia! You’ll never guess who this young man is.”
The lady took her seat, turned sideways, and stared at Charley. “Do I even get a hint?”
“He’s from Texas.”
“Oh my! What are you doing so far from home, young man?”
“Don’t ask, Sister. He doesn’t want to tell. But that’s not what’s important! Guess! Now think about it, and you can figure it out.” Pauleen tapped the table. “He’s twenty-four, too!”
“I love a challenge.” She glanced at her sister. “I presume he’s famous.” Then she went to studying on him. “Let’s see…you’re too young to be Sam Houston.”
Charley grinned, delighted at the sisters’ antics. “He’s dead, you know. But he has eaten at my Uncle Henry’s dinner table. Many a meal, especially when he wasn’t in office.”
“Sam Houston’s eaten at your uncle’s table? Wow, so that’s very impressive. Let me think.”
Pauleen shook her finger at him then touched her lips with it. “Don’t tell her anymore!”
“Henry…from Texas…your Uncle Henry is who?”
“No! He can’t tell you that!” Miss Pauleen patted her sister’s hand. “If he tells you that, you’ll get it for sure. It’d be cheating! And I want you to figure it out!” She picked up the novel and held it against her chest, the cover toward her sister.
“Toodleloo, Pauleen Shriver! There’s probably fifty thousand or more folks in Texas now. How could I ever know? Tell me! Tell me who he is! Introduce us properly!”
“How about I give you a clue? My mother’s real name is Rosaleen, but some folks still call her Sassy.”
The lady’s eyes widened. “No! You are not Charley Nightingale!” She faced her sister. “Is he? Is that who you’re saying he really is?”
The grin on Miss Pauleen’s nodding face would put a beaming smile on the Mona Lisa.
Claudia glared though. “He is not. What made you ever think I’d fall for that? You put him up to this!”
“No, I did not! May Meriwether is his aunt, married his Uncle Henry Buckmeyer!” She turned back to Charley. “Tell her!” She faced her sister again. Ask him anything! Any question from the book!”
“What rank was Levi Baylor when he rescued Sassy and Charley from the Comanche?”
He snickered and shook his head. “He was a sergeant, and Wallace Rusk was a private. My partners didn’t get word of their promotions until we got back to Austin.”
“See? It is true. Charley, I’d like you to meet my doubting-Thomas sister, Claudia Jeffcoat.”
“Doesn’t prove anything. Too easy.” The disbelieving sister turned on him again. “When Levi and Rose were trying to get his horse back, what did Charley throw at Laura?” The lady held her finger up. “And what color was Levi’s horse and its name?”
What a hoot! He loved the game. “I threw a horned toad, and actually, I gave The Gray his new name, Shooter.”
“What did Laura name her baby?”
“Lacey Rose, after Mama’s suggestion. Lacey after Wallace and Rose after her. Miss Laura liked it.”
“Did Laura and Wallace ever get married?”
He shook his head then leaned back at the mention of his partner’s name.
“Is something wrong, young man?”
“Uncle Wallace died of a wound received in the Battle of Laredo.”
“Oh, dear, that’s terrible.”
Chapter Fifteen
All the rest of the way to Albany, the sisters peppered Charley with questions about his parents, uncles, and cousins. Miss Claudia, the older of the pair—once he finally convinced her of the truth—asked the most.
Miss Pauleen seemed happy enough just to stare at him. Flattered him some, but the more she did, made him a bit uncomfortable.
Quicker than he expected, the train pulled into the Albany station. Only thirty-two minutes behind schedule, a minor miracle, according to the conductor. He helped the sisters with their luggage then extended his hand.
“Such a pleasant day visiting with you ladies. Sure made the trip go fast.”
Pauleen took his hand, shook, but didn’t let go. “Where are you staying, Charles?”
“Haven’t got that far. Know of a good, reasonable hotel?”
“No, not here! They’re all either too high-priced or dumps. You should stay with us! We have plenty of extra rooms.” She looked from him to her sister. “Tell him, Claudia. He can stay with us while he’s in town.”
“Of course! Where’s my manners? We should have already offered. Yes, by all means. Please say yes.”
Why not? Even with the five hundred extra that he didn’t pay the crook, his money belt grew lighter by the day. “Ladies, I’d be honored.”
Their house, a grand two-story not quite in the class of his parents’ home and nowhere as nice as Uncle Henry’s mansion, still it smelled sweet and looked clean and comfortable.
Rather charming on at least an acre of well-manicured grounds surrounded by a white picket fence. They put him in a nice-sized room on the second floor that Pauleen claimed caught the most breeze.
By that time back home, evenings were staying warm and sticky. The ladies couldn’t believe Clarksville’s nights already carried a hint of the scorcher everyone knew knocked on Texas’s door every spring.
But that first sunset, he found the April nights in New York State pleasantly cool and left the window open.
He loved sleeping under covers, and sleep he did in the feather bed—like a baby.
The Texas heat had not crossed Lacey Rose’s mind at all. The few times she’d longed for Charley, her mother’s angry words echoed through her soul. Half-breed she’d spit at her. Then his own mandate, to top that off.
Think of him as ‘just kin’ indeed. Combined, those incidents squelched any desire to return.
Of late, her mind pondered on little else other than money, or rather how fast the small horde Harold left her shrank. Three days passed since her last trek down Park Avenue to the law offices on stinky Wall Street.
How could those people tolerate that stench? Astounding.
Something had to give. As much as she loved living in luxury’s lap, she had to go north. Room rent would be due on the morrow, and she didn’t want to pay for another week.
Daily rates soared with the eagles, insanely high, so even another day in New York was unacceptable.
Two hours later, she sat
the same chair, waiting on the same dour matron to usher her into the same oversized office. Finally, after a full quarter hour of twiddling her thumbs, the little tinkle sounded. Like a bell cow, the grandma led the way into her boss’ inner sanctum.
“Miss Longstreet, please.” Her barrister—did anyone call them that on this side of the pond, besides Harold?—held his hand toward the same hard-backed chair she warmed before. “I have news.”
She eased down, but didn’t like the look on the man’s face. “Sir, I am a married woman even though a widow, and I would appreciate your acknowledgement of that. It’s Mis’ess Longstreet.”
“Of course.” He cleared his throat. “I contacted all three New York banks on your list, and none admitted to having an account in your husband’s name. But…” His lips spread into what had to be his version of a smile. “Two of the three have offered to settle.”
“Settle? What does that mean exactly?”
“If you’re willing to relinquish all claims, they will pay you a total of fifteen hundred and sixty dollars.”
“What? That’s a fraction of what he had in those banks!”
“According to your records…but each pointed out that you don’t have any account numbers, and your name is not listed anywhere. Basically, they’ve all seen your husband’s demise as a chance to garnish his money.”
“That’s absurd!” She wanted to kick something or someone. Over twenty thousand and the crooks dangled fifteen hundred sixty little green backs, hoping she’d go away! “Why the odd number?”
“I was subtracting the extra forty dollars you owe me.”
“You’ve blown through the hundred, and I owe you two more Double Eagles?”
“Yes, ma’am. Not counting today’s visit. All I have to offer is my expertise, ma’am, and I bill at the rate of fifteen dollars an hour.”
She wanted to bolt, stop the clock, but didn’t. She needed this man or one like him. The bankers wouldn’t let go of two bits without him, much less the thousands Harold wanted her to have. “You’re my attorney. Isn’t this illegal? Can’t you demand that they recognize the marriage certificate and my lawful inheritance as his wife? What do you recommend?”
“Take the money. If you’re careful you could live on it for years, buy a little place out of town.”
“Is that what you would do if I were your wife they were dealing so dishonorably with? Take the pittance and run? I think not, sir.”
“My wife’s name is on every account, ma’am, and she holds a comprehensive list of my financial holdings.”
“My husband intended to add me. We were practically on our honeymoon! Still walking on clouds and celebrating our love. Neither of us ever dreamed he would meet such a horrible fate. There must be something I can do! What would you tell your wife if she found herself in my position?”
“I’d want her to take them to court. Force them to give her every cent of the money. And it is legally yours alright, but they have possession of it, and until they’re forced, I doubt they’ll give the bulk of it up.”
“How much will forcing them cost me?”
“Thousands, and maybe years. They keep a plethora of high-powered attorneys on retainer. I guarantee, those men know all the tricks to drag things out. The longer it takes, the longer the banks get to use your money, and the more you have to spend to get it.”
She hated them all, wanted to scream or cry or….
“There is another way that will not cost you additional funds now.”
She leaned back. “What is it?”
“It’s called a contingency.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t charge you another dime now, but then when they do finally pay, my wages amount to a third of whatever I recover.”
Now she hated him. “What? That’s almost seven thousand dollars!”
“It is, and I must say your math impresses me. Most ladies can barely add two and two without paper and pen. But…for all my work, no matter how long it takes, I get nothing until I can make them pay. If I fail, I am out my time and overhead. Think about it. With that much money at stake, should you leave any stone unturned?”
Well, maybe hate was too strong a word. His reasoning made sense and proved a strong argument. “What about the other banks? Will you go after them, too?”
“Yes, ma’am. Until they made that nuisance offer, I admit to being skeptical of your claim. However, a friend of mine knew your late husband. The amounts of money on your list are very believable, giving Mister Longstreet’s talent at the gaming tables. He assured me there’s no reason to doubt the totals you gave.”
“I’m leaving town. We have a place in Glenn Falls. Do you need my signature on something to get this contingency thing going?”
Took only twenty more minutes for him to ink in her name on his pre-printed forms. What a dodge! Attorneys getting paid to fight other legal counselors in front of ex-lawyers who’d got themselves on the bench. They all had their hands in her clutch.
“Wasn’t it Shakespeare who wanted to kill all the lawyers?”
The man nodded. “Yes, Mis’ess Longstreet, but without us, the little man, or rather young widows such as yourself, wouldn’t stand a chance against the money vultures.”
How quaint. One blood sucker mocking a kindred profession. “You have a point.” She stood.
“Keep in touch. You’ll need to return when I arrange for us to be on the court docket.”
“I will, but I mean to stay in Glen Falls for now—no plans to travel in the near future—send any correspondence there, general delivery.”
By the evening meal of the third day with the sisters, Charley had decided he couldn’t mooch off of the ladies’ kindness another day. Aunt May would send more coin, or he could get a job if need be, but wandering the capital all day seeking information then eating the ladies’ food morning and night didn’t set well.
The Colonel wouldn’t take kindly if he were to know Charley was sucking up the sisters’ meager living.
“Wash up, Charles. Pauleen will have it on the table any minute now.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He did as told, then took the seat they’d insisted he sit, head of the table, with one on each side. Made him sort of the man of the house, except he wasn’t. They’d both insisted he drop the miss. Said it made them seem older, and he definitely didn’t want to offend his hostesses.
The younger sister set the last bowl down then eased into her chair on his right. “Dig in, Charles.”
The women calling him Charles seemed a bit formal at first, but once he started getting used to it, he sort of preferred it in a way. Made him think differently of himself, like he was older and a gentleman, instead of a half-grown farmer turned soldier.
When in Rome do as your benefactor does. That’s what Uncle Wallace said when someone didn’t bless free food, so Charley had been taking that bit of wisdom to heart.
So far, none of it had made him sick. Though the sisters weren’t in Miss Jewel’s class, they laid a right tasty meal on their fancy table.
Shortly, he had his fill. His mama always claimed he ate too fast. Old habits die hard. He’d told her more than once that of all his memories of living with the People, one of the most powerful remained wolfing down your food.
They stuffed themselves in plenty and never complained in lack. That had been so ingrained in him it had been hard to change.
The gluttony had been the easiest to avoid at Uncle Henry’s table, but eating like a wolf stuck with him, fast and furious. Claudia finished next, then cleared the table other than Pauleen’s plate.
Her younger sister wouldn’t stop talking long enough to finish.
Leaning out, he looked toward the kitchen. “How about letting me help tonight?”
“No, sir. Sister has a surprise. You enjoy yourself. I’m almost done.”
The younger lady stood, collected her nowhere near clean plate, and rushed to the kitchen. She returned with an unlabeled, dusty bottle and three c
rystal tumblers. “Brother came by while you were out, Charles. Brought us this month’s share.”
“Sorry I missed meeting him.”
“Oh, we told him all about you.” She grinned. “We own a distillery, fifty miles or so up state. Twice a month, our baby brother comes by with our share of the loot—hooch and dollars both—but even more important is, once a month we each get three bottles of Daddy’s private stock.”
Claudia strolled in holding a tray with three small cups. “Wait until you taste it, Charles.” She put a cup in front of him. “Stewed apples with honey and cinnamon. We just love it with father’s whiskey. It’s been aging for sixty years in oak barrels.” She giggled.
“Wow, that long?” Older must be better since they appeared to be so proud of the fact.
“Oh, just you wait!” Pauleen took her apple cup and lifted it to her nose, breathing in deeply.
The elder made a show of opening the bottle. “Brother taps one keg a month. The first nine bottles, we split. He sells the rest for an outrageous, exorbitant amount to fancy folks with more money than sense!”
“We have a waiting list should any of our clientele die or go on the wagon, but they never would.” Pauleen held her glass out toward her sister.
Claudia pulled the cork, then poured his glass first, two fingers high. He didn’t have the heart to tell her he didn’t like whiskey. Imbibed a beer now and again, but the hard stuff, he’d never taken more than a taste. Next, she filled her sister’s, then sat and spooned herself a little of the apple concoction.
Obviously savoring it, from her expression, she chewed then washed it down with a man size slug of the liquor. She giggled again. “Good old Daddy! No one ever matched his touch at cooking mash.”
He followed suit. Tasted better steamed apples before, but man, oh, man, was she right about that whiskey. Had to be it. He’d just never tasted any good stuff.
Didn’t like the rotgut the soldiers drank, but this…a whole different mule! Or rather race horse. No wonder the Jeffcoats had a waiting list.
They both stared at him with ear to ear grins, no doubt waiting for his comments.
