Beverly Jenkins

by Night Song

  Sophie pulled Cara into her arms, and Cara felt strength flow from the hug. Sophie drew back and in a coaxing voice entreated again, “Please, let me wire Texas. Chase will—”

  “No, Sophie,” Cara said, pulling away. “The first thing he’s going to want to do is give me and the baby his name. Not because he loves me, but because he’s going to feel obligated. And I won’t do that to him.”

  “But what about you? How are you going to provide for a baby?”

  “Sophie, I’ve been providing for myself for many years. I’ll do whatever it takes to feed me and the baby. I’ll scrub floors, take in laundry, anything. I’ll lie, pass myself off as a widow, if it has to come to that. But this isn’t Chase’s responsibility. It is mine and mine alone.”

  “Suppose he comes back?”

  “If he does, it won’t matter. I won’t be here.”

  “Oh, Cara Lee, let the people who love you help.”

  “Then help me by not telling Chase. And stop worrying. I’m from strong Georgia stock. My baby will be strong, too. We’ll both do fine.”

  The news of Cara’s pregnancy spread like prairie fire. The town council meeting the next night was packed. There were arguments on both sides. Those against, egged on by Virginia’s forces, shouted the louder; those in support of Cara sought to instill calm. Her supporters—Sophie, Asa, and the Three Spinsters, primarily—addressed the elders with logic. Where were they going to get another teacher as dedicated and as knowledgeable as Miss Henson? Her wages were hardly substantial enough to draw anyone of equal quality as a replacement. And the children were thriving under her fine tutelage and care.

  “But we cannot condone someone with no morals teaching our children,” one of the detractors shouted self-righteously. A buzz went up in the crowd. “She has morals, the morals of a cat!” another person pointed out.

  The argument grew so fierce at that point, Cara actually expected a fight to break out. Sheriff Polk, always on hand to keep the peace at meetings such as this one, banged his gavel, but it couldn’t be heard over the shouting and accusations.

  They finally took the vote.

  It turned out as Cara predicted. She was stripped of all duties until further notice with formal dismissal to follow.

  “Sophie, I’m going to make one last trip over to the school. I think those two books I’ve been looking for are there.”

  Sophie glanced up from the newspaper on her desk in answer. Cara was peeking around the door. “Have you packed everything else?”

  “Just about. Asa’ll take my crates over to Ellis and put them on the train sometime tomorrow. Will you please stop looking so glum?” Cara stepped into the office. “I know you don’t think this is a good idea, but I’m going to be fine. And I will write when I get to California. I promise.”

  “It says here in the paper that the Tenth was in Oklahoma a few months ago. You know anything about this David Payne fellow?”

  Cara shook her head.

  “Well, according to this, he and his followers, called Boomers, are challenging the government’s right to keep white settlers out of Indian Territory. Seems Payne and the Boomers keep trespassing and the Tenth and the Ninth keep escorting them out.”

  Cara knew Sophie was still trying to make her think about Chase, and it was working. “Has anybody been hurt?”

  “Nope. At least not yet. It says Payne’s mad at the politicians, not the troops. There’s even mention of the soldiers sharing their army rations with Payne’s folks. I think that’s pretty interesting.” She put the paper down.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Cara—”

  “Sophie, don’t please.” Cara knew exactly what she’d been about to say. They’d been going round and round on this subject since the night of the elders decision two weeks before. “I can make it alone. Please, tell me you understand?”

  Sophie sighed. “I do, Cara.” Then she added, “Make sure you put on something warm before heading over to the school.”

  “I will.”

  Cara’s cloak felt good against the chill of the late October night. The wind whipped across her bare cheeks and fingertips, encouraging her to quicken her steps. Inside the schoolhouse she found the missing books with no trouble. Holding them against her chest, she took one last look around. She’d miss this place terribly. She forced herself to go quickly then, lest she break down and cry.

  She closed the door and put on the lock. The Reverend Whitfield would resume teaching until a replacement could be found, and Cara reminded herself that she had to leave the keys with Sophie in the morning before departing for Ellis. Cara had no idea what lay ahead in California, but the newspapers down at the mercantile attested to many established Black communities there. She was certain she could carve out a niche for herself and the baby.

  A horse and rider moved suddenly out of the shadows, startling her.

  Seeing it was only Miles Sutton, she relaxed, but his tone of voice soon roused her anger. “Well, if it isn’t the town whore,” he sneered.

  The animal beneath him danced nervously, tossing its head back and forth, making Miles work to keep it under control. “So, Cara, I hear you’re going to wrap the bastard in Union blue after you whelp.”

  Cara tried to move on, but he guided the stallion up on the walk to block her path. “Didn’t I tell you we were fated? And what do you do? You spread your legs for that soldier. You owe me an explanation.”

  “I owe you nothing, Miles. Now let me pass.”

  “No.”

  Cara saw him weaving slightly in the saddle. In the dark she couldn’t be certain, but she was willing to bet every book she owned that he was stinking drunk. She took a hasty evaluation of the surroundings, looking for help, but saw no one.

  He leaned down into her face, and for a moment she thought he might fall, so precarious was his seat. “I’m celebrating a very profitable business opportunity. Would you like to help me celebrate back at the Lady?”

  “No.”

  “Well, if you can spread your legs for him, you damn well can spread them for me. Now come on!”

  His arm clamped onto her waist and, though she fought him, he raised her up to the saddle. She swung her fists, hitting him about the face and the chest desperately attempting to free herself. He was too strong and succeeded in seating her in front of him. Cara continued to fight him. The stallion snorted and reared. When it reared again, she sensed she was about to fall. She clutched at Sutton’s shirt but he struck out, and she plummeted to the ground. Her back hit the edge of the walk as the hoof of the terrified horse struck her head. That was the last thing she remembered.

  In the hallway outside Colonel Benjamin Grierson’s office, Chase pounded his Stetson against the side of his blue-uniformed leg. Three days ago, he’d received the colonel’s summons to return to Fort Davis. Chase and a small patrol had been pursuing renegades, and it had been a long hard ride back across the Chihuahuan Desert.

  Tiny dervishes of dust took flight under the hat’s pounding. He was tired, dirty. He wiped sweat from his face, then retied the damp kerchief around his neck.

  The colonel’s door opened, and an aide stepped out. “Colonel Grierson will see you now, Sergeant.”

  Chase entered the office and saluted. “You wanted to see me, sir?”

  “Yes, Chase. Have a seat.”

  Chase availed himself of one of the wooden chairs opposite the desk.

  “You catch those renegades?”

  “No. We chased them back across the Grande,” Chase replied. The renegades would be back soon, no doubt, terrorizing the border towns strung along the banks of the Rio Grande until the army once again chased them back into Mexico. It had become a very frustrating game, in some way as frustrating as the unsuccessful search for the bandits in Kansas the past summer. But Chase had the distinct impression he hadn’t been called back to report on the campaign against the bandits. “Has something happened, Colonel?”

  “I’m not certain, but we’ve been recei
ving telegraph messages for you.”

  He handed Chase a handful of messages. Puzzled, Chase opened one on top and read: CARA GOING CALIFORNIA, PREGNANT, SOPHIE. Chase’s eyes widened.

  Before he could digest the news, Grierson handed him another. “This came yesterday.”

  Chase opened and read the second. CARA HURT. LOST BABY. PLEASE COME. SOPHIE.

  Chase’s heart stopped. He was numb. There was no other way to describe it. Cara had been pregnant! The enormity of that news alone rendered him speechless. And now to find she’d lost the child, his child. There couldn’t be a doubt that the baby had been his. Grief welled in him and he slowly folded the telegrams and placed them in the pocket of his shirt. “Permission to return to Kansas, sir.”

  “Somebody run down those coach robberies?”

  “No, sir, this is personal business. I’m going to marry a woman I met there last spring.”

  “Well, congratulations are in order,” Grierson exclaimed enthusiastically.

  “I suppose so, sir.”

  Their gazes held. Chase had known Ben Grierson a long time. Together they had ridden to hell and back. “Let me be frank, Ben. She was pregnant. She’s lost the baby.”

  “I see,” the colonel replied softly. “You have my sympathies, Chase.”

  “I appreciate that. I just hope she’ll appreciate what I’m going to do.”

  Chase didn’t have to debate the issue with himself. Marrying Cara was the honorable thing to do. She was a vibrant and beautiful woman. He refused to let her bear the slurs alone. Had he kept his hands off her, none of this would have happened.

  “Chase, are you sure about this marriage? I remember hearing you say a dozen or more times that you weren’t the marrying kind.”

  “She’s different, Ben.” The image of Cara’s laughing face shimmered in Chase’s memory, and for a moment he saw nothing else. “So much fire,” he added wistfully. “I have to marry her. Only honorable thing to do. And I do care for her, more than I ever have for a woman.”

  “She’ll be happy to see you, I’m sure.”

  “Don’t bet on it. She’ll probably fight me all the way to the church.”

  The colonel’s raised eyebrows did not escape Chase’s attention. “I told you, she’s different.”

  “Well, take all the time you need. You have enough leave to give everyone in a regiment a long vacation.”

  Chase stood and saluted, and Grierson returned the salute. Chase headed for the door.

  “Oh, and Chase . . .”

  His hand on the knob, Chase stopped and turned back. “Yes?”

  “Good luck. If there’s anything Mrs. Grierson and I can do, please let me know.”

  “I will, Ben.”

  Chapter 10

  Chase had never been a praying man, but on the long train ride North, he sent more than few a prayers heavenward. Sitting in the cattle car because of the fickle Jim Crow laws, Chase refused to listen to the inner voice that whispered Cara might be dead . . . like the child.

  The babe would have been the first in his line since slavery to be born free—free to be educated, free to carry a father’s name, free to exercise the right to flourish or fail just like every other American.

  He assumed Cara only recently had discovered her pregnancy, and the letter telling him about it was still winding its way to Texas. He would marry her. No question about that. The twin slurs of “slave” and “bastard” would never again be associated with children of the Jefferson lineage. Dwelling on the child’s death moved him to a pain-filled numbness. Nothing in his experience prepared him for the emotional upheaval unleashed by Sophie’s news. He, who’d ridden into bandit nests, faced death many times over on many campaigns, felt overwhelmed by fear at the prospect of Cara’s dying. He hadn’t a qualm about breaking his pledge to leave her alone if ever he returned to Kansas. That seemed like foolishness now—maybe madness. He had to help her regain her health; he had to give her his name.

  After leaving the train at Ellis, Chase rode Carolina the last thirty miles to Henry Adams under the rising sun. In the distance, light painted the prairie skyline with fiery pinks and reds. He was too bone-tired to appreciate nature’s canvas. He could barely sit Carolina. However, his strength seemed to return as soon as he reached the outskirts of town, bringing with it a heartfelt certainty that Cara still lived. He had no idea why he felt so confident, but he did; if she were already dead, he’d know.

  Asa answered Chase’s summons to the door. They embraced each other, then hurried through to Sophie’s office where she was seated behind her desk sipping coffee. She came hastily to him, and the hug they shared was tight with emotion and pain.

  “Chase, oh, thank heaven you’re here. I’m so glad, so glad,” she whispered with tears in her eyes.

  “I left Texas as soon as I got word.” Chase saw that she looked more tired—old, really, worn-out—than he’d ever seen her. “How is Cara?”

  “She didn’t have a good night, but Doc Johnson is with her now. You can see her when he’s done.”

  Chase remembered meeting Johnson the night of the Black Widow’s birthday. “How’d she lose the baby?”

  “Nobody’s real sure, but Sheriff Polk says he heard her screaming and when he got to her she was lying”—Sophie’s voice cracked—“on the walk, out cold. Miles Sutton was standing over her.”

  Chase went deathly still. “What was he doing there?”

  “He was drunk,” Asa said. “He went in to some kind of song and dance about how he’d wanted Miss Cara to help him celebrate a business deal with him, and she fell off his horse.”

  “She fell? Cara’s been around horses all her life. I don’t believe that. What’s Cara say?”

  Sophie shook her head. “Nothing. So far she’s still too ill.”

  “Well, I’m not. He in town?”

  “Yes, he is, and the sheriff is handling it,” Sophie cautioned. “Cara’s our main concern right now. We don’t care what you do to him once she’s well, but we don’t have time to keep your head out of a noose, Chase.”

  Chase knew she was right. Sheriff Polk had impressed him as a fair man. Sutton wouldn’t be allowed to leave town until the investigation was complete. But the thought of Sutton having a part in Cara losing the child made him want to kill the man with his bare hands.

  “Chase . . .” Sophie called softly.

  Chase came out from behind the veil of rage.

  “How long can you stay?” she asked.

  “Until she’s well enough for me to leave her.”

  “Well, I’ll put you back in the room next door, is that all right?”

  He nodded, then fished the telegrams out of his pocket and handed her the one that mentioned California. “Tell me about this.”

  Sophie read it and looked up at him. “Chase, you have to understand the hell she went through when the people found out she was in a family way.”

  “Sophie. What does this telegram mean?” he said impatiently.

  Sophie and Asa shared a speaking look, then Sophie added, “She was planning to leave for California the morning after the accident.”

  “Why?”

  “She was going to live there,” Asa added.

  Chase looked to Sophie and then to Asa before asking in a raised voice, “Was she planning on telling me about the baby?”

  “Chase, listen, she was—”

  “Was she going to tell me about the baby?”

  “No,” Sophie replied quietly.

  He slammed his fist down on the desk, scattering the contents. “That was my child, too! My child! Did she actually believe she’d get away with it?”

  “Chase, I don’t believe she was thinking—”

  “Damn right!” Chase’s gut churned with betrayal and pain. Damn her! “Do you think I should have been told?”

  “Yes. That’s why I sent the first telegram. But Chase, you have to—”

  “I rode in a damn cattle car all the way from Texas, worrying the whole way, a
nd you say she wasn’t going to tell me about my own child?”

  “She didn’t want your pity.”

  “I came back here to marry her! Give her my name!”

  “I know, Chase.”

  “No, you don’t Sophie,” he whispered icily. He wanted to break something. Rage seemed to be exploding from every pore in his body. He wanted to confront Cara. What would have been her answer to the child’s natural curiosity about its missing parent? Had she planned to lie, to say the father was dead? Chase could think of no reason why she would decide to keep quiet, move . . . and, no, they’d never discussed the possibility of a child, but dammit, she should have told him.

  The doctor came in then. “Delbert,” Sophie asked, “how’s she doing?”

  “As well as can be expected, I guess.” He skewered Chase with an angry, scornful stare. “What are you doing here?”

  Chase’s jaw tightened at the man’s tone. “Just stick to doctoring. How is she?”

  Delbert looked into the frigid eyes and said, “If her fever doesn’t come down, we may lose her.”

  “I want to see her.”

  “She won’t know you’re there.”

  “I don’t care.” Chase paused only a second, then bolted out of the office and up to Cara’s room. The familiarity of it swept him up. He walked to where she lay. Stunned and speechless, he knelt beside the bed. He searched the gaunt, terribly still figure smothered beneath piles of quilts for some resemblance to the woman he’d known. The glowing skin and fiery nature were gone. The sickness held her. Chase did not have to be a doctor to know she was gravely ill. He ran his fingers over her delicate brow, saw the ugly gash above her eye, felt the feverish skin. He called her name softly.

  Cara heard her name . . . recognized the voice . . . oh, her grandfather had every right to be angry at her for eating all those green plums, and now she was sick, and . . .

  “Cara Lee?”

  “Papa, it hurts so much . . .”

  “I know, darlin’, I’m here.”

  “Are you mad at me?”

  “Nobody can stay mad at you for long. Just rest now.” He picked up the cloth in the basin beside the bed.