Daughters of the Heart (13 page)

The tap backed Bonnie away from the door. Gwen must have snitched her out.

“Open it now.”

She glanced to the ceiling, but retreating to the attic wasn’t a possibility. The few times she’d been up there, either Charley or CeCe herself had helped her get through the hatch.

“Come on, Bonnie. Open up.”

She didn’t sound too mad. “You going to hurt me?”

“Of course not. Now unlock the door.”

“Promise?”

“Bonnie Claire, if you don’t do it now....”

Smoothing her dress, she lifted her chin then flipped the lock with every intention of marching out, but Cecelia blocked her way.

Her sister leaned in close. “Why were you in my room?”  

“Because you can’t hear good enough from mine. Plus your crystal is the…oh well, it was the best….”

“Exactly. Why did you break it?”

“I was mad.”

“Why?”

How could she ever tell her? She shook her head. Cecelia didn’t need to know anything. “What difference does it make? I’m not mad anymore, and I’m sorry.”

CeCe glanced at Gwen who just smiled then turned back. “That glass cost me two dollars and sixty-five cents.”

“Fine. I’ll go get your money.”

“No, ma’am. You’re working it off. Ten cents a day. I’m getting married, and between now and then, I’m going to need me a chaperone.”

Oh well, even though she didn’t like it, that sounded better than having to give up over half her coin horde. She hated not having money when she did get to go to town of a Saturday.

“Fine, but I heard Pa talking to Miss Laura about starting school back up once planting is over, and that’s going to be pretty soon.”

“Not a problem. Elijah and I will help you with your lessons.”

Bonnie looked past CeCe to Gwen who smiled, raised her brows, and nodded. “I’ll do it, but I want fifteen cents a day credit.”

“How about we ask Daddy? Let him decide.”

Oooo, she hated being the youngest sister and them always getting the best of her. She pursed her lips. “No. Nevermind. A dime will be fine.” She smiled real big.

A lot can happen between now and next March.

The trip to Clarksville produced two
boons for Braxton. When posting his letter at the stage office located inside the Donoho’s lobby, he overheard an interesting conversation about a nice block of timberland north of town only about seven miles.

That gave him a reason to be out and about, but the second bit of news warmed his heart. Seemed there was an out of the way saloon in these parts after all. And darkening the door of the Methodist meeting hall is exactly what got him an invite.

That afternoon, he spent a rather pleasant time playing poker with gents who seemed to love giving him their coin. As was his custom first time at a game, he gave back almost all of it, right before he figured he needed to leave to make supper.

Wouldn’t do to get marked as a sharp before time.

As calculated, he stuck his boots under Henry’s table with a quarter hour to spare. Shortly, the beauties began bringing in the feast. Heaven forbid, he’d marry either of them just for grazing rights.

But first, he needed to get past Buckmeyer, and according to Clay Briggs, that proved no easy chore. He’d already sent the boy home once.

Ten, twelve bites into the meal, Henry set his fork on the side of plate, as though the man had real manners. “How’d your day go, Braxton?”

“Good, sir. Got a lead on a nice block of timber north of town. The Loveless place. You know of it?”

“Yes, I do, but unless Pete has passed and I didn’t hear of it, you’ll not get that block for market. That old man only trades if he gets the best end plus ten percent.”

“Don’t know for sure who’s offering it, better than a headright, though, if the rumor holds.”

“True, and Pete hasn’t cleared more than a few hundred acres last I heard.”

The creamed potatoes came round, and Braxton scooped three spoonfuls on his plate before passing them. “You interested in taking a look?”

“No, not me. Might be a fool’s errand.”

“Possible, but in my business, can’t leave any stones unturned.” This was perfect, give him another opportunity to liberate more coin from that game.

“Understandable.” The man turned his attention to the far end of the dining table. “Chester, tell Braxton what you read in that newspaper you picked up for us today.”

The ex-slave launched into a diatribe on politics, then offered a new piece of news.

Gwen didn’t care one whit for politics, but she did appreciate the distraction that afforded her the opportunity to see how Clay reacted to her studying on the stranger in their midst. His return had thrilled her heart.

Coming all the way back to beg Henry Buckmeyer for another chance took guts. Then even better that Daddy let him stay.

No doubt Clay’s mama was plenty upset with him just getting home then lighting right back out again. Seeing how he was her baby. Gwen would hate being the youngest. Poor Bonnie.

How did Mis’ess Briggs feel about her boy wanting to wed? He obviously loved his mother, talked about her a lot, and didn’t seem to mind her doting on him something awful at church.

Surely she approved the match. Who might she possibly think was better suited?

Braxton, on the other hand, hadn’t said anything about his family, well not to her anyway. Strange now that she thought of it. Clay stared at the timber man. She grinned. Was that flash of hate her beau was shooting at Mister Hightower?

Oh, she loved it!

Though the whole situation with her younger sister and Elijah was rather off-putting, there had not really been any true interest in Mister Eversole on her part. She had enjoyed the competition between the three men being centered on her.

If one was going to drop out, though, she was glad it wasn’t Braxton Hightower…or Clay Briggs.

Still, it wouldn’t be right for CeCe to get married before her.

The Californian, if what she’d heard from Mary Rachael held true, was well off in his own right. Her older sister told her in the strictest of confidences that their gold mine made over a thousand dollars a month.

Every month, even while Elijah worked on Daddy’s steam engine there in Texas.

Though Clay’s family seemed financially fine, she suspected old man Briggs wouldn’t be tossing much of it his son’s way, not with seven older siblings. She had a right smart nest egg herself, but…would she ever touch that money?

For sure she’d not make the same mistake as Mary Rachel.

None of her suitors would have an inkling about the gold coins her daddy had put back for her and her brothers and sisters.

“Oh, yes, sir. I believe you might be right about a war coming, but if one puts any stock in what Mister Greely claims, it can be avoided.”

Giving her a quick glance as though to be certain she paid attention, Clay pointed his fork at Braxton. “Texas should never have joined the Union.”

Hightower snickered. “With Santa Ana breathing down you Texans’ necks, itching for another fight…if you hadn’t joined the Union, then.…”

For the next bit, the young men debated. Well, Elijah stayed out of it, but when their tone heated, her daddy stood. “Gentlemen.”

One word—one not even that loud—and both men fell silent.

“Perhaps we should refrain from politics until after supper.”

“Yes, sir.” Clay spoke first, then looked at her. He knew how she disdained the topic.

Braxton only nodded, then he, too, looked her way. “Gwendolyn, how was your day?”

She enjoyed the way he smiled, except she wanted more time to study on the men. “Excellent, sir, and yours?”

His smiled increased. “Had a wonderful day, thank you very much. Tomorrow I’ll go investigate that timberland I told your father about.”

She feigned interest and encouraged him to tell her more, loving Clay’s hangdog expression. He was so smitten with her, no doubt about that. But was he the one she’d choose? Before Elijah and Braxton came along, she thought he was her best option, but now….

“Only about five miles north from Wellington’s if I’ve got it right.” He looked at her daddy. “Is that correct, sir?”

For a bit, Henry only stared then nodded. “About that, no more than seven. Easy ride there and back.”

“Good. Figure I’ll leave out first thing in the morning.”

Again Henry nodded then turned his attention to Clay. “Your mama didn’t seem too happy yesterday after church.”

“No, sir, but unless I’m hanging onto her apron strings, she’s that way. Doesn’t dote on any of the others like she does me.” He grinned. “ ’Spect we’ll have to alternate Sunday dinners….” His faced turned red. “Uh…well…I mean if….”

“Some mothers have trouble letting go.” He’d heard that about Maud Briggs, but until this minute had passed it off as an old wife flapping her gums.

A glance Gwendolyn’s way proved she’d heard him, too, smiling like a woman with someone wrapped around her little finger and tied in a bow.

“Elijah tells me you’re a big help.”

“Try to be, sir.”

Henry eyed Eversole. “You tell Clay what we decided?”

The Californian set his fork down, glanced at Clay then back. “Yes, sir, sure did. We’ve already moved his bedroll from the bunkhouse.”

Gwen’s puzzlement amused him, but she didn’t need to know everything he did. The young man obviously saw it, too, as he sent her a quick grin. “Excellent, let me know if we need to make any changes.”

“Yes, sir, but I don’t anticipate any. Early on, I bunked with two other miners in closer quarters.”

“That the claim you and Jethro are partners on?” Henry leaned back, hoping the young man would take the conversation to the gold fields. At first, he only hinted at his past, but then with each question asked and answered, it brought out more.

Houston—always first to finish eating and usually itching to get the table cleared and dishes done—hung on every word out of Elijah’s mouth. The gold miner himself stood first and started stacking plates and bowls.

With both hands full, he turned toward the kitchen.

Seemed to Henry that Braxton walked slower through the chore each meal he ate, but had to give him staying until the end, unlike his own little man-plant. More times than not, Houston slipped out, disappearing before the last dish was dried and put away.

From the kitchen, he joined his wife and the young folks in the parlor, but everyone kept their good distance.

His Bonnie Claire watched them with her hawk eyes, so he figured that he could retire to his quarters. He bade them a good night and left. Later than he would have preferred, May joined him.

  As she swept into the room, he looked up from his ledger. He loved the way she moved. Almost like floating, but with a joy in her step. That wouldn’t be lasting through the next half year though. “Want to sit here?”

“Why, please, kind sir, and thank you.” She grinned. “That chair of yours fits me perfectly, and the wingbacks seem to pain my back worse.”

He resisted mentioning what she’d gotten herself into. He loved his babies, every one, but still would have liked it best if Crockett had satisfied her need to mother. Miss Jewel had gone out of her way to tell him May would be fine though.

He eased into the right hand wingback. Truth be known, he preferred sitting there instead of his chair.

Once she settled in, he gave voice to what he’d been thinking since the man gave himself away. “We need to have a word with Gwendolyn.”

“About?”

“You ever heard of Wellington’s?”

“No, I can’t recall. Do they go to church? I thought I’d met about everyone.”

“No, not a family. There’s only one of them, and he runs the only saloon or card parlor in the county.”

A bit of interest flashed in her pretty eyes then turned to concern. “Oh? Where is it?”

“North of town four or five miles. Can’t find it if you don’t know what you’re looking for and have decent directions.”

“So…you figure Mister Hightower has been there?”

“Looks that way to me.”

Her shoulders hiked a bit. “Oh, darling, is it so bad? I’ve been known to make a wager or two, you know.”

“So have I, but I been thinking. Figured after the way Gwendolyn was making eyes at the both of them, I could save us all a lot grief and shoot them both.”