DAWN PAINTED A palette of pink and bronze across the eastern horizon as Madeline peered over her shoulder toward a copse of trees off to her right. She couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching her.
The sensation had lessened to a degree after the colonists left the forest region and traveled across prairie, but still, sometimes at night the eeriest sensation would creep up her spine. She never mentioned the problem to Brazos, but she found his presence inside her wagon every night reassuring.
Over the past week of travel, the lay of the land had changed from the flat coastal plains to the gently rolling hills of the cross-timbers region. Groves of hardwood trees gave way to sprawling swaths of meadow, and the sight of spring green grass sprinkled with rainbows of wildflowers strummed a previously unplayed chord in Madeline. Land such as this would make a fine home.
If Brazos’s descriptions proved true, the area in which the colonists would settle was not as appealing as the land they now traveled. “Dallas is the end of the East, Madeline,” he had told her. “The other side of the Trinity River is basically where the West begins. You’re talking plains there—wild horses, cactus, scorpions, and Indians, of course.”
Personally, Madeline would just as soon do without the Indians. And the cactus. And the scorpions. Horses were all right. The colonists had made camp the previous night in a meadow at the base of a rolling hill and awakened to peaceful coo of a mourning dove perched in a nearby pecan tree. Brazos had mumbled something about repairing a part on the other wagon, while Tyler and Juanita had walked off in search of wild blackberries to eat with the morning meal. Madeline was helping Lillibet fix breakfast when Rose let out a fearful cry.
Whirling around, Madeline saw the child hanging from the side of the wagon, her tiny fingers clutching at a rough wooden slat, her feet dangling.
“Rose,” Madeline gasped, dropping the pan of spoon bread and rushing to the wagon to gather the child into her arms. “I swear, darling, if you don’t stop this climbing, you are going to seriously injure yourself one day.”
Lillibet approached, wiping her hands on her apron. “Is she all right, dearling?”
Madeline sighed heavily. “I don’t know what to do with her, Lil. She climbs everything she can reach. I’m really frightened she’ll hurt herself.”
Lillibet patted the hiccuping child’s back. “It is a problem, I’ll agree. Why, I’ve never known a baby quite so daring at such a tender age. She’s just about to walk, though, Madeline. Maybe she’ll stop acting like a little monkey once she can get around on her feet.”
“Yes, then instead of climbing like a monkey, she’ll run like a deer, and I’ll have to go hunting for her around salt licks,” Madeline replied glumly. As she pressed a kiss to Rose’s head, the nagging worry caused her to ask, “Lil, do you think this is normal? I mean, could this climbing problem be a sign that something is wrong with Rose? Something mentally?”
Lillibet looked at Madeline as if she had the mental problem. “Now, why would you ask such a foolish thing like that?”
Madeline thought of Julian and replied, “I’m just worried, that’s all.”
“Well, heaven knows I understand a mother’s concern,” Lillibet said huffily, “but I never want to hear you speak such foolishness again. There’s nothing at all wrong with Rose. In fact, I believe high-spiritedness is a sign of intelligence.”
Madeline smiled wanly, and silently swore to set aside that particular worry. Rose’s cries had settled to occasional sobs when Ben Litty walked up beside them a few moments later. Frowning with concern, he asked, “Is the little one all right, Madeline?”
“Yes, she’s fine. We had a bit of a scare, that’s all.”
Litty extended his hand to tickle Rose beneath the chin. “Aw, darlin’, don’t be doing that,” he said, smiling gently at the sniffling child. “It’ll give your mama gray hairs, and she’s too young and pretty to be having those.”
“Now, Ben,” Madeline scolded, although she couldn’t hide her pleasure. How nice to be complimented by a man, especially one as handsome as the wagon master. She certainly wasn’t hearing anything of a similar nature from her husband.
Who, she noticed, had stuck his head from beneath the buckboard and was glaring at her. She reacted by smiling sweetly up at Ben, whose temples sported streaks of white, and said in a voice that carried, “I think gray hair on a man is quite attractive.”
“Why, thank you, ma’am,” he answered. Then he lowered his voice and grinned as he added, “I’ve decided I’m lucky you’re in love with your husband, Madeline Sinclair. You can be a right ornery woman.”
Madeline felt a touch of chagrin. Perhaps she shouldn’t attempt to stir up jealousy in Brazos. But hadn’t he done the same thing just last night when he’d fussed so over Juanita? Self-defense, that’s all her devilishness was. She’d learned early in her life never to give up the fight, and living in close concert with Brazos Sinclair had become nothing less than all-out war. Today’s battle had only begun. “Ben,” she asked, smiling sweetly, “I dread the thought of riding in the wagon today. Do I have time for a bit of a ride before the train heads out? I’m in the mood to go for a gallop.”
Litty chuckled. “Like I said, you’re as ornery as a mule colt. Get your horse, Madeline. I’ll take you.” Then he said in a voice only she could hear, “But I’ll expect that introduction to the Reverchons’ eldest daughter you promised me at dinner tonight.”
“It’s a deal, Mr. Litty.” Then Madeline, Ben, and Lillibet all looked toward the wagon as Brazos yelped a curse and rubbed at a bump on his head.
Madeline and Ben rode for only twenty minutes before he indicated they should return to the train. Being less than a week from La Réunion land, the colonists anticipated the end of their long journey and tended to ready themselves for the day’s trip quicker than they had before.
The riders were discussing the merits of different methods of child discipline when they cantered into the bustling camp. Madeline’s gaze snagged at the sight of Juanita, waving her hand and calling directions as Brazos toted one of her trunks from his wagon into Madeline’s. The Mexican woman looked up at Madeline and frowned. “Tell him, girl, that we women need many changes of clothing. He listens to you,
si
? Explain I must have everything with me.”
“Brazos, what are you doing—” Madeline began, halting abruptly when she saw him open one of her trunks and riffle through its contents.
He was about to find her stash. The one that included his watch, his gun, three of his toys, and a few other insignificant items to which he could lay claim. She made quick excuses to Ben and galloped over to her wagon. “What is going on?” she demanded.
“My Lord, woman. You’ve got more junk. What are you plannin’ to do, open a mercantile at La Réunion?” He withdrew a pair of white silk pantalets. Holding them up in front of him, he whistled and said, “Maybe I ought to go through these chests of yours a bit more carefully.”
Madeline vaulted from the saddle and grabbed the underwear from his hands. Stuffing it into a corner she demanded, “Brazos, why are you going through my things?”
He peered into the trunk with considerably more interest than he’d previously shown. “I’m looking for some things for you and Rose to wear. After switching Nita’s things from the buckboard to your wagon, I don’t have the gumption to haul another trunk. You and me and Rose are gonna be leaving the train. Get the things you’ll need for a few days—only the necessities, mind you—and put them in the back of my wagon.”
“What? Why?”
“You’re my wife. I don’t need a reason.”
Madeline simply glared at him.
Brazos looked toward the wagon master and drawled, “Maybe I’m looking to get you out of here before you present me with a pair of cuckold’s horns.”
Her mouth gaped open, and she blinked hard. “Before I—” She put her hands on her hips, stiffened her spine, and questioned, “You dare say that to me? You, who can’t keep your eyes off wanton Juanita?” From the corner of her eye, she noticed the Mexican woman’s smug smile.
Brazos’s expression hardened. “Watch your mouth, Madeline. You’re fixing to flap that tongue of yours into a heap of trouble.”
Fuming, she sucked on her lower lip and folded her arms. When Brazos turned to the trunkful of stolen items, she moved quickly and sat on the lid. “Rose and I are not going anywhere with you. Thank you, though, for asking.”
“I’m not asking,” Brazos replied flatly. And he meant it. He was determined that Madeline—and the baby—make the trip to St. Michael’s with him. He wanted her with him just as much as he’d wanted to leave her behind only the day before.
Good Lord, he’d gone plumb crazy.
Still, he wasn’t leaving Madeline here with pretty-boy Litty. He’d made that decision the moment he’d watched her smile vapidly up into the wagon master’s eyes. “Fool,” he muttered.
“I am not a fool!” She glared at him mutinously, looking so beautiful, it made him ache.
“I wasn’t referring to you, wife,” he said, sighing. “Look, Rose will get a kick out of being where we’re going. And I’ve an idea that you might just like it, too.”
“And where is it you think to take us?”
“I’m taking you to meet my children.”
Her mouth gaped, and she blinked her eyes. “Your what?”
“My children.” Observing her face bleed white, he added maliciously, “All twenty-three of them.”
Chapter 13
ST. MICHAEL’S CHILDEREN’S HOME had officially been named for St. Michael the archangel, the one who will battle the antichrist and cast the beast into the abyss of darkness for all eternity. Brazos had thought the name appropriate when he chose it in honor of another Michael, one who had lived and died carrying the standard of Christ, but who never would be canonized.
The devil responsible for his death would pay for his sins, however. Brazos had sworn it.
Madeline hardly spoke to him during the trip, and he was too busy worrying about the upcoming reunion to battle with her. After hours of travel along a bumpy, rutted trail, the wagon pulled to a stop in front of a three-story clapboard house. A wide, gingerbread porch stretched around the house on three sides, and at its center, a sign squeaked as it rocked in the westerly breeze. Madeline read aloud, “St. Michael’s Children’s Home.” She gave Brazos a curious glance, “What a charming house.”
“Yeah,” Brazos replied, a surge of satisfaction sweeping through him as he studied the home from chimney to pier. The place was looking good, real good. He took a quick count of the rosebushes lining the walkway to the front steps. “Twenty-four. There’s twenty-four. We’ve added another one.”
“Twenty-four. Children. An orphanage.” Madeline slapped her forehead with a palm. “They aren’t your children, they’re orphans!”
Brazos glared at her. “Listen, I may not have fathered these kids, but I care for them as though they were my own. My money supports them, my family helps run St. Michael’s, all of them have permission to take the Sinclair name as their own. Any insult you give them, you give me. So I don’t want to hear any snide remarks out of you, woman, about these children who’ve been unlucky enough to have lost their parents.”
Madeline stammered, “I’d never…I didn’t. Oh, Brazos, I thought …”
“You thought what?”
For a long moment, Madeline held his gaze, then she reached over and squeezed his hand. “Brazos Sinclair you’d make a wonderful father.”
“Well, hell,” he gruffly cursed. Hopping down from the wagon, he extended his arms for Rose. “Come here, Miss Magic. You’re gonna have a merry time here at St. Michael’s.” He assisted Madeline to the ground, then led the way up the path to the house.
He didn’t bother to knock. A fierce anticipation gripped him as the sound of children’s laughter floated from one of the back rooms. “They must be having a late lunch or an early supper,” he told Madeline as he shifted Rose into her arms. He took off his hat and hung it on the top rung of a tall hat tree already holding caps and bonnets of all shapes and sizes. Wiping his suddenly damp hands on his denims, he finger-combed his hair and asked, “Do I look all right?”
She stared at him in amazement. “Why, yes, Brazos, you look very nice.”
He nodded, then took a deep breath and tried to quell the nervousness that had sprung to life in his belly.
“What are you doing just standing there, Madeline? Come on.”
Shaking her head, Madeline walked at his side toward the dining room. Of course, he was dragging her along. “You’re about to pinch off my elbow, Mr. Sinclair,” she hissed.
He dropped her arm. The children’s voices grew louder. He heard his sister Melissa’s firm but gentle voice chide them to quiet down. Melissa, or Cecilia as she now was known, always had been good with the kids. He’d been grateful when she’d decided to dedicate her life to helping the young residents of St. Michael’s, thankful that the name change allowed her to do so without alerting Salezan of her connection to the Sinclair family. Even though Lana and Mason Kennard ran the daily operations of the home, the children needed a teacher. No one was better at teaching than Melissa.
Then he was there, in the doorway, gazing at those whose very existence had saved his sanity. The orphans, Miguel’s orphans—healthy, happy, in their home.
Melissa sat at the head of the table with her back to Brazos. She was saying, “Billy, if you don’t eat your peas, you’ll not be given a slice of vinegar pie for dessert.”
“Are you still arguing about eating your peas, Billy Justice?”
For just a moment, it grew so quiet that he could have heard Billy’s peas plop against the floor. Then the room exploded with noise. Chair legs scraped, children squealed, and Melissa screamed. Brazos went down beneath a flurry of hugs, kisses, and shouts of joyous welcome.
Never before in her entire life had Madeline felt so alone.
HE HAD introduced as Madeline Christophe to his sister. His sister Melissa. His sister Melissa, the Catholic nun, who had changed her name to Sister Cecilia Mary Catherine when she took her vows.
Madeline could accept the idea of carrying golf clubs in a coffin better than she could the fact that Brazos Sinclair had a sister who was a nun.