Just Kin (Texas Romance Book 6)

by Caryl McAdoo

  There on her knees, she knew it.

  Never had she been so free.

  She was clean on the inside again exactly like that first time she gave her heart to Him when she was nine years old. But that seemed a lifetime ago, and now, He made everything new once more.

  How could she have strayed so far away from the One—the only One—Who loved her unconditionally?

  How long she’d remained kneeling there, blessing and praising the Almighty, she didn’t know.

  But in time, the bed and its covers drew her. She slipped back in between the sheets, pulling the quilt under her chin, and continued to praise the Lord.

  The minute her eyes closed, she stood in the great room again.

  “The Lord says choose wisely, Daughter.”

  She turned around. The old man stood by the hearth warming his hands by the fire. The flickering light haloed his hair, as wild as ever.

  He smiled. “While the gambler’s child will be a man of God, it is your second son who is called to greatness…as is his son after him.”

  She opened her mouth with so many questions swirling in her head, so much she wanted to ask, but before any words came, Dithers, along with the blaze he’d warmed himself by, vanished.

  Not even a hint of smoke or ember remained. Her hand went to her belly. So her suspicions bore truth.

  She carried Harold’s child.

  Choose wisely.

  What did he mean by that?

  Seemed no matter how hard she tried to leave town early for a nice visit, Freddie ended up not making it until Friday. That evening, not much had changed, but she’d determined she would get out of the city.

  It surprised her to see both Marah and Charley waiting on the station’s platform. Once she stepped off and could see her daughter’s face, Freddie allowed herself a little smile.

  “Sorry I didn’t get here sooner.”

  A light kiss on the cheek welcomed her home. When was the last time she’d gotten any affection from her daughter? “Well, we were, too, Mother, but we’ll forgive you. You’re here now. So it’s Lincoln again?”

  “So it seems. I hate it that he dumped Hamlin. The president seems resolved to fight this war to the last man.”

  Charley nodded toward the train. “How many bags, ma’am?”

  During the short ride home, Marah gushed about the water system Charley had installed. So…as she thought.

  The young man had made the difference in her girl. It tickled her how even more than the telling, the almost constant glances she shot toward the adorable little Charley, all grown up driving the carriage, made her admiration clear.

  “Where’s Wilhelm?”

  “Apparently, he has a new female friend. Charley remains mum other than to say the boy needed the evening off, and that he’d be happy to meet the train.”

  Freddie hiked her eyebrows, winked, then mouthed ‘are you and him’? She nodded twice toward the Texan.

  Marah shrugged and mouthed back, later.

  As always, being at the farm thrilled her and warmed her heart. She loved being home. Shame she couldn’t merge her two worlds, but nothing compared to New York and publishing.

  Perhaps one day, she’d tire of the hustle and bustle and come home for good. But until then....

  The ‘later’ that her daughter promised came while she unpacked her bags. Marah swept in like a young lady needing a boon.

  “We’re alone now. What about you and Charley?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. He’s a wonderful, intelligent, handsome young man, but he’s five years younger, and.…” She sighed.

  Freddie grinned. “And what? You’re acting like a school girl.”

  “I am not. He did kiss me—once. But… I think he’s in love with Lacey Rose.”

  “What about you? Where’s your heart?”

  “On a battlefield?” Her daughter flopped on the bed. “No, I know what you’re asking… And I suppose I could do worse.”

  “What does that mean? Do you –”

  “Oh, Mother. You’ve read too many dime novels.”

  “Sweetheart, that’s what pays the bills. So? Tell me, Marah. Are you falling in love with our young Texan?”

  “I don’t know, Mother. Maybe.”

  After a wonderful meal from Cookie, she poured herself a brandy and headed to the parlor to enjoy a little pleasant discussion. While nursing her second brandy, it hit her.

  “Oh, Charley! I almost forgot. I should have told you first thing. Longstreet is dead.”

  Her words shocked Charley. “What of Lacey Rose?”

  “She was with him. They’d just come from the theater, one of the smaller ones at the end of Broadway. A thief robbed them. Longstreet got stabbed in the stomach and died the next day. Lacey shot the man in the leg. The coppers found him a week later bloated and stinking. No one seems to know the whereabouts of Mis’ess Longstreet.”

  “They were married?”

  “That’s what the detective said she claimed. But once they found the dead thief with a hole in his leg, the police closed the case.”

  Charley nursed his drink while the conversation shifted to politics. He didn’t care about any of it. Lacey Rose had married Longstreet. And now, she was a widow. All alone. A strong desire to pack his bag and catch the next train almost overwhelmed him, but to go where?

  Could she still be in New York?

  “Miss Freddie.”

  She looked his way and smiled. “Yes?”

  “Anyway you could get a letter or telegram to Texas?”

  Her smiled vanished. She looked over his head for a bit then shrugged. “I can try. I know a man in Saint Louis who might help. I’ll write him. See what he thinks.”

  “Good, I’ll have a short note ready when you leave.”

  On Sunday evening after Marah showed off riding Sir Lexington around the back paddock, Wilhelm hooked up the carriage and loaded Freddie’s bags.

  Both he and Marah offered to go to the station with her, but the publisher refused. “No need. We can say our goodbyes right here.” She held out both arms toward Charley, and he walked into her embrace. She smelled of lilac and roses.

  He kissed her cheek and stepped back. “Thank you so much for your help. If you hear anything else….”

  “Of course, dear.”

  He pulled his note out and extended it. “Hopefully, your friend can forward this on to Aunt May.”

  She put the letter in her clutch. “Yes, I’m certain it will be welcome news back in Texas.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Now I want you to listen to me. No matter what, don’t come to the city until the draft gangs are gone. I’ll let you know when.”

  Oh, yes, he’d forgotten about them. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you for the reminder.”

  With a smile, she patted his cheek. Looked like for a minute, she might hug him again…or worse, but she finally faced Marah and embraced her daughter instead. “Baby, you be careful with that stallion. I’d just as soon you sell him.”

  “If you do, I want him. I’d love to take him to Texas. Uncle Henry would be so jealous.”

  Both ladies snickered. They sounded so much alike. Marah shook her head though. “No, sir. Lexi stays right here with me. I can hardly wait until the fall and the first chase. That fox doesn’t stand a chance.”

  While the groom drove her away, Charley watched. Sure had been a good idea to contact Aunt May’s publisher. He’d never dreamed….

  Marah slipped her hand into his and squeezed. “Fancy a night cap?”

  All the way to the parlor, Marah hung onto to his hand.

  At the sidebar, she stopped, and he took the far chair. She poured two tumblers half full then handed him his. She wanted to slip into his lap, but took the overstuffed rocker across from him and held her glass out and up. “Cheers.”

  He raised his drink but didn’t say anything.

  Two gulps in, she couldn’t hold her tongue any longer. “What did your note say?”

  F
or several sips, he appeared to be deciding if she’d crossed the line. As if one little kiss didn’t entitle her to pry. He hiked one shoulder ever so slightly and cleared his throat.

  “Told Auntie I’d tracked Lacey to New York. That I was fine and not in need of money. Wanted her to know I’d contacted your mother, and she could pass any message through her.”

  Pained her heart he hadn’t mention her, but then again, what was she to him? “Any idea what you’re going to do next?”

  “Thought I’d build you a bath house.”

  “What? Charlie Nightingale, you are full of surprises. That is not what I expected you to say. Oh, that would be wonderful! But no, you can’t. What about Lacey?”

  “Once Miss Freddie gives me an all clear, I’ll go look for her.”

  “So…you’re here until the end of the war?”

  “Hopefully, it won’t be that long. Just until the draft squads are satisfied.”

  “That might be the end of the war, you know. Anyway, where would you start?”

  “Find Longstreet’s grave, and…” He scratched his ear and exhaled. “Go from there.”

  She wasn’t sure how he figured a grave would help, but didn’t want to talk about Lacey or Longstreet any more. The idiot marrying the man hadn’t deterred Charley from finding her one bit. She’d hoped….

  “A bath house you say? Sounds luxurious. What does it entail?”

  Launching into a much too complicated explanation, including what it would take and a description of how it would look and function.

  Other than the location—she wanted it closer to the house than he planned—his plan, as she followed it, sounded great. He finished talking, drained his glass, then set it on the table.

  “Want a refill?”

  He held his tumbler out. “I’d love one.”

  She jumped up, filled his three quarters full and refreshed hers.

  After a good-sized sip, he leaned back in his chair and stared into her eyes. “A question, if I may?”

  For a dozen heartbeats, she lost herself in his gaze, then her mouth—or was it the brandy?—answered. “Ask away.”

  “How did you come to be married at fourteen?”

  Lands to Goshen, her and her big mouth. But she shouldn’t withhold her past, not if she had any hope of keeping him there. “I wasn’t. Curry didn’t ask me until after Cyle was born.”

  “Was the man touched in the head?”

  She grinned. “No. He left for Europe before I knew. Mother made me stay here with my grandmother and hoped I’d give Junior up for adoption, but…for me…that was never a consideration.”

  “Cyle or Junior?”

  “Either. Curry Cyle O’Conner, Junior. We married as soon as he got home.”

  “Why is it you and the boy don’t get along?”

  The question punched her in the gut. He sure knew how to turn the knife once he stuck it in. Even her mother didn’t know the why. But…if she might ever have a chance…. “Before his father came along, I was sweet on our old cook’s son, Ike.”

  Why was she telling this man her life?

  “At eighteen, he lived with his mother in our basement. He drove Mother and helped around the house, guess he was like a butler.” She picked up her glass and sipped on it while she studied on this stranger who she opened up to as she hadn’t to any other human being. What was it about him?

  He didn’t appear to be judging her or on the verge of bolting, so she continued.

  “Right after Curry enlisted, Cyle caught me and Ike…uh…he was comforting me. Junior was eleven then. He…didn’t understand. I hated the war from the start and fought with his father over enlisting for weeks. My son…heard it all…took his father’s side, of course. After seeing me with Ike…. He hates me.”

  Draining his drink, Charley stood. “Thank you for telling me.”

  “Wait. Answer me one question before you go.”

  “Fair enough. What do you want to know?”

  “Do you love Lacey?”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  The first Sunday back from the convention surprised Lacey Rose. The deacon wasn’t in attendance, nor did anyone seem to know his whereabouts.

  Three days later, Nate came calling, dressed in his meeting house best and bearing a bouquet of fresh flowers. Once in the great room and relieved of his offering, he extended his hand. She took it.

  “Lacey, I know you haven’t been a widow long, but my life has changed and….” He knelt on one knee in front of her.

  She pulled her hand back. “Wait. Get up.”

  His eyes widened, but he remained on his knee. “But why? What’s wrong?”

  “Please sit down. There’s something I need to tell you.”

  Taking the rocker next to the hearth, he sat as she asked, but on the seat’s edge.

  Her mouth went dry as she tried to find the exact words. Instead of unburdening her heart as the opener, she decided to sate her curiosity. “We missed you at church Sunday. Where have you been?”

  He grinned. “That’s why I’m here, I’ve been meeting with John Fremont. He’s asked me to help with his campaign.”

  She’d heard the name before, but couldn’t place him. “And who is Fremont again?”

  “The Radical Republicans’ nomination. He ran in ’56, and if we are able to gain enough electors, we can throw the election to the house. Goal being to keep Lincoln from getting a second term.”

  She didn’t know about any of that, and it didn’t much matter anyway. She believed Dither’s prophesy that the war wouldn’t be over until next year. “So you’re leaving?”

  “Yes, and I hope you’ll agree to come with me.” He slipped out of the rocker back onto his knee. “As my wife, of course. Marry me, Lacey.”

  His eyes held a passion, but it wasn’t love. She filled her lungs. No way around it, she had to tell him. “Nathaniel…you see…I’m pregnant.”

  He pushed himself to his feet then retreated to the rocker, sitting all the way back into the chair. “Is it Harold’s?”

  What a question! “Of course! Why would you think for one minute that the baby isn’t his? We were married, after all!”

  “Did you know what he was?”

  “Yes, of course, I did. He was my husband.” She rose and went to the window, half expecting Mister Dithers to be out there to guide her in the way the Lord would have her go. How dare Smithson! “Harold Longstreet was one of the most kind, generous, and loving men I ever knew.”

  “He was also a liar and a cheat.”

  Why had he come? This was no way to win a yes to his proposal. Did he mean to insult her so? Oh, it became clear. He was only after her money—Harold’s money!

  “Are you aware that he killed his first wife?”

  She spun from the calming mountainside and faced him, her cheeks blazing. “Get out! How dare you come into my home and insult me and my deceased husband! I don’t ever want to see you again. Go! Get out, I said!”

  The front door slammed, and she sank to her knees and wept.

  Kind, caring hands patted her back. Sweet, supportive and encouraging words flowed over her, but she couldn’t be consoled. She cried for her lost innocence, her dead husband, her restoration to Father God in Heaven.

  How had her life spiraled so out of control? And just when she thought things were getting better! God loved her, but had He let them cast her into a pit?

  Would she ever find the lasting solace her soul craved?

  Oh, sweet Charley, are you even alive?

  While Lincoln’s war raged in the south, the Texan fought his own battle with her new bath house. Wanted it to be perfect he claimed. Marah had asked him flat out if he loved Lacey, and he’d only shrugged. Told her he didn’t know.

  Could it be the truth?

  She hoped he would elaborate at some point, open up and tell her his life as she’d told him hers. Instead, he’d taken his leave, and ever since, whenever she tried to broach the subject, she could count on him changing t
he subject or walking again.

  But the man never took the bait. Worked himself hard every day and never lingered over a night cap.

  As June melted into July, frustrations grew. Truth be known though, she couldn’t be sure of her own heart or its intentions. Did desire grow only because he remained so unavailable? Or had she fallen in love? It seemed like it.

  Did she still love Curry, or had the handsome young Nightingale stolen her heart away from the man she’d considered her soul mate?

  Questions roiled inside, keeping her on edge.

  Then to make it worse, a week after the big Fourth of July celebration, her mother sent word.

  Everything in her wanted to burn the missive, but she knew better. Just like she couldn’t keep Curry from joining the army or Cyle from hating her, it certainly appeared she would soon lose the Texan as well.

  Surely when he knew, he wouldn’t stay much longer either, especially with her mother offering to let him stay with her. Marah would be alone…again. Maybe if….

  That night at supper, after another hard, hot day, Charley put his fork down and smiled. “Cookie, you outdid yourself once again.”

  “Oh, Mister Charley, you are so kind.”

  Marah patted his forearm. “Yes, he is.” She squeezed. “Want a night cap? Mother sent a bottle of single malt.”

  “That would be nice.”

  Waiting until he sat in the rocker and she across from him in the parlor’s overstuffed chair with both tumblers half filled, she pulled the letter from her skirt pocket and held it out. “Mother says the Feds have finally stopped drafting men.”

  He reached over and took her offering. “Any other news? Did Aunt May get my letter?”

  “I’m sorry, she didn’t say. And nothing about your friend either. Seems the south is getting desperate. They’ve extended their draft age to seventy. Can you imagine?” Why’d she call Lacey Rose ‘your friend’?

  Sounded a little removed even to her. But he’d placed and kept Marah at that distance.

  It certainly wasn’t of her own making or desire.

  Shaking his head, he unfolded the page then stared at it long enough to read it multiple times.