Just Kin (Texas Romance Book 6)

by Caryl McAdoo

  He smiled, gave her a peck on the cheek, then backed up a step. “Maybe Lacey and I can stop by on our way home.”

  “Oh, we’d love that. Think of it! Meeting baby Lacey Rose in the flesh. That would be grand. Please do! And you be certain and tell your Aunt May how much we love her books. She is such a gifted talent!”

  “She’s a wonderful lady all around.”

  “I tell you true, Charles. Meeting you has been a highlight, a bona fide highlight of our lives! Who would have ever thought we’d have the opportunity to host such a celebrity?”

  Holding in a downright guffaw, he smiled then ducked slightly. “Oh, Claudia. I’m nothing special, just a –”

  “Ah! I beg to disagree, Charles Nightingale!”

  Charley turned. Pauleen stood in the door way holding a burlap bag, but in a fancy dress and hat, looking like on her way to high tea instead of the train station, except for the bag. He nodded toward Claudia.

  “Well…I was just telling your sister maybe Lacey and I could stop by on our way home.”

  Her expression softened. “Yes, please do. That would be wonderful.”

  Once inside the carriage, Pauleen slipped her hand into his and squeezed. “You don’t have to go, you know. We could send someone.”

  He faced her. True enough, he considered staying longer, but knew he shouldn’t. Couldn’t really.

  “On his death, Wallace Rusk ordered me to find Lacey Rose. If I turned aside and stayed here with you like I’d love to do, it’d be shirking my duty. Make me a deserter. I’m still a sergeant in the Confederate Army.”

  Truth be known, he never should have stayed past that first night.

  She shook her head. “It concerned me that you’d say something like that.”

  The silence hung heavy, drowning out the street noises. Only the clippety clop of the horse’s hooves clicked off the time left to spend with her. Charley brought her hand up and pressed her fingers to his lips then smiled at her.

  “I never expected encountering someone like yourself. I’ll never forget you, Pauleen.”

  Tears welled, but she absorbed them with her gloved fingertip, keeping them from falling.

  “I really loved the little boy Miss Meriwether wrote about in the Ranger. But oh, the person you’ve grown into, Charles! So strong and kind.” She patted his thigh.” “You are more man than I’ve ever known, and it has been such a pleasure—a true and pure pleasure.”

  His ticket in hand, he offered a polite handshake that turned into a hug then a tearful kiss. She pulled back, smiled, and picked up the burlap bag she’d been lugging. “Here. I packed you some cheese and bread, and –”

  The train’s whistle drowned her out. The conductor hollered right over his head. “All aboard.” Up ahead, the locomotive’s wheels turned. Steam shot out with a hiss, and the train lurched forward, belching a mammoth cloud of steam from its stack.

  Grabbing his carpet bag in one hand, he accepted the burlap tote she handed him with the other.

  She kissed him one last time, then backed away. “Go on then. Farewell. Please try to come back for a visit. With or without Lacey Rose.”

  With one last look, he transferred the dinner bag, adding it to his own, and jumped onboard. He hung on there and watched her wave at him as the train pulled out of the station. He lifted both bags and grinned until she went out of his sight at the first curve.

  She was gone, and he’d never see her again.

  No way would he chance Lacey meeting the sisters. She’d probably spot it in a heartbeat if ever the two were in the same room.

  He found his right seat, stowed his grip, then looked inside the burlap bag. Besides the bread and cheese, the old dear sent two bottles encased in newspaper and a fancy wrapped package. He tore into it.

  A silver hip flask, five twenty-dollar greenbacks, and a note he unfolded.

  April 17, 1864

  Dearest Charles,

  The flask was my father’s. I hope you’ll think of me every time you use it. The labeled bottle is our regular whiskey. It’s good, but only aged three years. The other is one of my father’s. Save it for your and Lacey Rose’s wedding night.

  I love you,

  Your really good friend, Pauleen.

  P.S. Buy her something real nice with the money.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Of course the bread and cheese proved exceptional, high above ordinary fare. Charley unscrewed the flask’s top, and took a sip. She’d filled it with the good stuff. He allowed himself another tiny taste then put it away.

  Even if the train stayed on schedule, he’d not make Philadelphia until early tomorrow.

  “Why ain’t you in uniform, boy? You a draft dodger?”

  He faced the man flapping his gums. The idiot directly across from him glared. At first Charley thought to ignore the loudmouth, but the guy shifted in his seat, revealing a missing leg. “No, sir. I’m on leave.”

  “That so? Fight any battles before you run off?”

  “A few, the last at Laredo.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “Texas.”

  “Oh, you with Briggs?”

  He shook his head. “Buckmeyer.”

  “Never heard of him, make any rank?” The man’s tone softened. He pulled a pint bottle—looked to be laudanum—from his coat pocket, swilled a healthy slug, then wiped his mouth. “Me, I made sergeant before they took my leg.”

  Charley pulled out the flask, unscrewed the top, and held it out across the aisle. “Need a chaser?”

  “Thanks.” He took a medium-sized pull then handed it back. “Wow, now that’s some fine whiskey.”

  “Yes, it is. Mis’ess Shriver’s father brewed that over sixty years ago. Been waiting for us in oak barrels all that time.”

  “Shriver, you say? My new favorite poison.”

  “Jeffcoat is the family name.”

  Once the man settled in, Charley found out he could spin a yarn, talk politics, or drink a man’s whiskey when offered with the best of them. But after that first drink, didn’t say another word about Charley not being in uniform.

  The Copperhead believed sooner the war was over the better, and the conversation helped the miles go faster.

  After a fitful night of napping and changing trains, Charley finally made Philadelphia. He discovered that morning the Wessex hotel indeed employed themselves a Lefty, but the man who ran the gaming room didn’t come in until six.

  First card not dealt until seven, the clerk explained, probably thinking Charley wanted into the game.

  “Bring plenty of coin.” The desk man handed over the room key.

  No need to change the clerk’s opinion of why he’d come. Like Uncle Henry always said, ‘Nowhere was it written a man had to tell everything he knew.’

  Just as the clerk predicted, Lefty walked in a few minutes before the lobby’s big clock struck six. After dropping Archibald Beasley’s name, the man’s whole posture changed. “How is Archie? Still sucking blood from widows and orphans?”

  Charley hiked both shoulders. “Don’t know about that. We do have a mutual friend in Miss Claudia Jeffcoat. He said you might know Harold Longstreet.”

  “I know him. Why you asking?”

  “He knows the whereabouts of a friend of mine, hoping he can help me find her.”

  Lefty nodded then greeted two men who strolled by just outside of the big room’s arched double wide entrance. He turned back. “So you know both the sisters?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I take a break around nine. Buy my supper, and I’ll tell you what I know of Harold.”

  “Yes, sir, be my pleasure. Where should we meet?”

  The man nodded across the lobby. “The bar is fine. I can keep an eye on the room from there.”

  Just to be polite, Charley ordered a beer. He started to bring out his flask, but decided that wouldn’t do. The establishment sold hard liquor, too.

  His inner ear heard Wallace Rusk’s mocking British accent saying
, ‘Bad form, old boy.’ Sure did miss Uncle, and he would for the rest of his days.

  That one-legged veteran could spin a yarn. Why couldn’t Wallace have seen a life with one leg? The train passenger lived with it and seemed none the worse for being crippled.

  At least, he was alive. He could still tell a whopper, but Uncle would leave him in the dust, especially when he got to bragging on Levi Baylor.

  A swaying skirt floated into the corner of his eye and pulled Charley from his ruminations to the lobby.

  The lady stopped dead center right next to the huge column, looked all around, then sat on the padded seat that circled the polished pole. It looked to be the room’s main support.

  He sipped his beer and watched without staring. In a few minutes, an older man dressed for dinner approached the lady. She stood and rushed to him like a long lost relative. An uncle perhaps? With her only taking his arm, they strolled toward the stairs.

  A few minutes after seven, the lady materialized back at her column, sitting so ram rod straight and proper without a hair out of place.

  Strange. Or was it?

  Soon a new dapperly dressed gentleman appeared, even older than the first. Surely this was her father, but then no demonstration of affection. Hmm. Again, she took the fellow’s arm, and the pair strolled toward the stairs.

  The lobby clock struck half past eight.

  He’d been watching the gamblers coming and going to and from the game room. Halfway hoped to see the lady and her relatives show for a hand or two of cards, but so far, not even a mistaken shadow.

  The hairs on the back of his neck tingled. He eased around.

  The lady marched right for him, a rather stern expression on her comely face. She grabbed an empty chair from the next table, swung it around, and sat—in a very unladylike position.

  “You Pinkerton?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Law dog of any kind?”

  “Not me. Do you need assistance?”

  “No. Now look me in the eye, and tell me again you’re not the law.”

  He stared right at her. She had beautiful long lashes gracing over pupils a man could fall into. Why did she want to know if he was a lawman? “Charles Nightingale, ma’am. I’m from Texas.”

  She leaned back and gave him a little smile. “Excellent. I have an hour open at ten and midnight, twenty gold or greenback, and…” Her lips thinned, and she leaned in close. “I call the shots, and keep the time.”

  Highfaluting sporting lady! He never would’ve guessed. The few he’d seen in the saloons of San Antonio acted nothing like this woman and charged a fraction of what this lady did—or so he’d been told.

  The Philadelphia floozy looked so prim and proper, yet she talked almost as rough as those gals.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Whatever you want it to be, darling.”

  Movement turned his head. Lefty pulled a chair up and sat. “Git on now, Sal. This man isn’t buying what you’re selling.”

  “You don’t know that, Lefty. Let the man speak for himself.”

  “He’s right.” Charley gave her a wink. “Now if you’ll excuse us, ma’am.” Though he definitely found her rather attractive, he’d already messed up once. Hated that, too, sort of anyway, because he also hated declining her offer.

  She stood, kissed her fingertips then touched his lips. “Well, fine then, but I’ll be at the end of the bar later should you change your mind, Tex.”

  Best he could, he put the soiled dove out of his thoughts and faced the man. “What can I get you to eat?”

  “I sent word to the kitchen already. My steak will be here shortly. So what is it you want to know about Longstreet?”

  Before, during, and after the monster slab of beef, the man talked about Harold Longstreet. He’d seen the young lady Charley described, but she’d only played one of the three nights Longstreet had been there.

  Appeared the man never suspected the two were working together.

  Barkeep brought a second beer without being asked.

  Lefty took a long slug. “She claimed to be some sort of minor royalty, from…uh…Denmark. No, Greece. That’s it. But she couldn’t play much poker. Won early then lost it all back right before closing time.”

  “Have any idea where Harold might have gone from here?”

  “He doesn’t stay anywhere long. Gets to where no one wants to play with him. The man is good. Seldom—if ever—have I seen him lose.” The beef eater shrugged with a chunk on his fork. “If it were me, I’d go to New York. That’s where the big games are, and Longstreet’s from upstate somewhere. Has a home there if I’m remembering right.”

  “Glen Falls?”

  “Yes, that’s it.”

  “Anyone in particular I should talk to in New York?”

  As he nursed his second beer, Lefty told him of several saloons and three card parlors, but past that, no telling where his man was or if Lacey Rose even still traveled with him.

  Plate cleaned, the fellow glanced toward the game room, drained his drink, then stood. “Watch out for Sally. She’s poison.”

  “How so?”

  The man snorted. “Trust me. You don’t want to have anything to do with that one.” Lefty tipped his hat and headed back to the game room.

  Charley ordered himself another beer. By the time he finished it and paid what he owed for the steak, he’d come to the same conclusion on both counts. He needed to get himself to New York and leave the sporting lady alone.

  While her true love’s train chugged toward New York, Lacey sipped coffee and picked at the breakfast Mother Humphries set in front of her. She and her husband had agreed to sit at the table with Lacey, but only after her insistence.

  The old lady—and her dearest even more—still mourned.

  And they ate at the first light of dawn, while she preferred a mid-morning breakfast and not ten minutes after the old dear made enough noise to wake the dearly departed.

  “More coffee, Mis’ess Longstreet?”

  “Please, ma’am.”

  She’d given up on getting the Humphries to call her Lacey, but wouldn’t relent on referring to them as ma’am and sir no matter how many times they assured her it wasn’t necessary or even proper under the circumstances.

  Once they called her Lacey, then maybe… No. Showing respect to her elders had been ingrained in her.

  The woman poured the steaming brew then sat across the table next to her husband. No one spoke of it, but the chair at the head of the table remained empty.

  “Mister Humphries and I are going to the Copperhead meeting this evening, dear. Would you care to join us?”

  “No, ma’am, but thank you. I’m afraid I hate snakes. Almost got bit by a rattler once.”

  Her mister chuckled, and the two exchanged a grin. “No, dear, Copperhead is what we call ourselves. Mis’ess Humphries and I are both good Republicans, praying God will end this appalling war. The way things are going, they’ll kill half of the men in this country before anyone can win.”

  A gasp escaped, and Lacey’s hand went to her heart. “Half? That many?” Was Charley safe? And her uncles? Oh, she couldn’t bear it if anything happened to Bart or Houston.

  “We want to stop it now, before it gets that bad. Let the South go. With the thirteenth amendment, all the darkies will come north anyway. Then after a few years, the rebels will come crawling back to the Union.”

  The idea of the war being over certainly appealed to her as well. She’d gone back and forth trying to decide if she should wait or not to go home.

  Her chances of finding Charley until it ended didn’t seem too high, a bit like hitting an inside straight. But would her presence make any difference?

  “Where is this meeting scheduled and at what time this evening?”

  “At the Methodist Church. Deacon Smithson organized it and will be the main speaker. He’s very eloquent, dear. I believe it would do you good to get out of the house.”

  Why not go? She�
��d not been anywhere other than the bank and lawyer’s offices since arriving in Glenn Falls. “Yes, ma’am, I might enjoy an outing, but only if you agree to let me treat you to supper in town.”

  “Oh, that would be wonderful, but you don’t have to at all, dear. Mister Longstreet was so kind to deed us our home and two acres. But if you insist, then yes, by all means, Mister Humphries and I would love a nice supper in town.”

  So she and the bank didn’t own their cottage. That was good to know. “What time should I be ready?”

  “I suppose four-thirty would give us plenty of time to eat before the meeting. My mister doesn’t like to trot Buster, that’s our horse’s name, and the old boy is well into his twenties now.”

  “Yes indeed, and healthy as a horse.” The old man broke into guffaws at his own humor. It was good to hear laughter, and though it probably sounded forced, she tried to join in, appreciating his joke.

  “Four-thirty it is.” She forked a hunk of salt pork, suddenly hungry. “Thank you for inviting me.”

  Her first impression leaned toward wearing one of the black dresses, but it had been almost three weeks, and as well as she’d come to love Harold and his money, no need overcame her to put on as though she couldn’t bear life without him.

  The midnight blues dress with its modest lace neckline would do. Somber, but not too.

  A long bath with lilac salts would do her wonders. And her hair…how should she fix it? She’d never been to a political meeting before. It sounded almost like a party.

  Might there be dancing after? She’d love nothing better. Would the good Republicans of Glen Falls think it forward for the young widow to join in the festivities?

  Probably no waltzing at all, though she’d truly love twirling around the floor as Harold had taught her. Either way though, it would be good to get out of the house and meet some new folks.

  What a shame that Charley couldn’t be whose arm she held walking into the Methodist church meeting.

  But no. He was still back in Texas seeing to his duty. Texas. Her heart waned. She missed her home and all of her family—except her mother. One day….