Daughters of the Heart (15 page)

Thank the Lord, Daddy had built the house with such great ventilation to catch every breath of air the prairie offered. Sitting back at her desk, she lifted the paper. One page failed to impress her, and it not even full.

Why, she could write three or four pages without even trying, but at least it was a letter—and all she had at the moment. Clay hadn’t written.

Dearest Gwendolyn,

She loved him using her full name, a Belle would have

been nice, but perhaps too much.

In any case, he’d started well.

I miss you and your family so much, but I have sad news. My partner and friend was one of the thousands to die from the fever. Poor man, caught it working with the Sisters of Mercy, the Order I told you about that taught both us in school.

Oh, the poor man losing his dear friend who contracted cholera trying only to help others. Tears spilled over and ran down her cheeks. She blinked, daubed her eyes with her hanky, then managed to read on.

I long to return, but with Claude gone, I cannot fathom leaving our business interest here unattended. Perhaps once the outbreak is over, you and your family could visit.

I hate to ask, but if it would be possible for you to write, I would surely cherish every word. I pray your father will approve our correspondence. If I cannot at this time be deemed a suitor in his eyes, then perhaps you could write me as a friend. I’m feeling a bit lonely here and would appreciate it greatly.

                                              Always yours,

                                  Braxton Hightower

Post Script, I pray you will not think me forward, but if I may speak my mind, Clay Briggs is too much a boy for a fine lady like you, dear Gwendolyn.

She held the paper against her heart. Such a gentleman, and so sad about his partner and best friend. Still, honorable that he puts his responsibility ahead of his own desires. Surely it had been hard for him to leave her.

New Orleans wasn’t that far away—only six days by stage and steamboat. The place her mother told her daddy she couldn’t marry him.

Gwen smiled to herself. She loved the way Rebecca told that story. Perhaps, if she traveled there, she might stand on the exact spot, on Braxton Hightower’s arm. That would be so romantic. The scene played out in her mind’s eye, and she sighed.

Mary Rachel had been born nine months and three weeks exactly from that very day, only she and her mother, and of course her big sisters, knew that little fact. To her knowledge, CeCe and Bonnie never heard that part of the story.

Something inside prodded her to run downstairs that very moment and ask her daddy if she could go.

Humph, he’d never agree to that, not with the outbreak still a danger.

Certainly he would agree to her writing back. Would he want to read what she wrote as well? It wasn’t fair him being stubborn. She chose instead to read her letter again. That would suffice, even though it hardly said anything.

Maybe she’d missed something.

Tomorrow would be soon enough to ask if she could at least write. Besides, if she did go downstairs, Crockett might see her, and this night, she didn’t want a little brother in her bed.

The next morning, even before she could work the conversation around to her letter or visiting New Orleans, Elijah put both her and Cecelia into a dither.

Her sister’s beau turned to Daddy. “Well, sir, the steam engine’s running fine, putting out more board feet a day than anticipated, and the planter is proved, so if you’re agreeable, I’ve decided to go back to San Francisco early.”

Oh no. Why would he?

“I plan to leave tomorrow, and if he’s of a mind, I hope to convince Clay to go with me.” He chuckled. “That’s if he can tear himself from his mother’s apron strings.”

Well, that was just ugly.

Clay had slept on it, and
that morning, it sounded all the better to him than yesterday evening when Elijah invited him to go. What an awesome adventure.

Now the hard part.

How could a boy go against his ma?

He set his fork on his plate and wiped his mouth. He dropped the napkin next to the plate just as though he sat the head table in the Donoho’s fancy dining room—instead of with his boots under his mama’s kitchen table, same one he’d chowed down at all his life.

A boy shouldn’t go against his ma, but a man would. Best he be about the telling. He and Elijah needed to get themselves to Clarksville. He stood then nodded at his father, hoping the man would take his side with her or at least keep his peace.

Would his best smile still work on her?

“Ma, I’m going to San Francisco.”

“What? No you’re not.” She glared at his father. “Did you know about this?”

The old man hiked his off shoulder a fraction. “We talked about it last night, told him to sleep on it.”

She leaned back, then held her hands out and motioned him down, but he resisted. He was done taking orders from her.

“Clayton Butterfield Briggs, sit yourself right back down. Your pa and brothers need you here, not running off to get kilt by some crazy gold digger in California.” The I-dare-you-to-say-a-word look she shot his Pa kept him hushed. She turned back on Clay. “Not to mention your sisters and me. What would we do if something happened to you?”

“Now, Ma, I am not going to get myself killed.”

“Don’t you ‘now-ma’ me, Clay Briggs.” She shifted inside her dress, tugging at it, then settled fresh in her chair. “ ’Sides, you know good and well you haven’t got the money to pay a steamboat’s passage. You haven’t worked a full day here in forever. So don’t be asking your Pa or me for any either.”

The little boy part of him wanted to tell her he’d stay, but….

“I don’t need any money, Ma. I’m going. Elijah said he’ll take the expense out of my planter money, and he’s giving me a job, too. A good one working at his mine while I’m there. We’ll be back before you know it. Elijah is marrying CeCe next year, and I’ve still got my eye on Gwendolyn.”

“It’s hard to do any sparking halfway around the world. Stay, Son. You’re needed here.”

“No, I’m going. Pa and the brothers do just fine without me.”

“What about me, Son? I can’t stand the thought of something happening to my baby. Why would you want to go and put yourself in harm’s way?”

“I’m not your baby anymore, and like I said, we’ll be back early next year.”

Crossing her arms over her chest, she set a stare into the air, looking straight ahead. “Won’t have to worry none about when you’ll be back because you’re not going. And that’s final.”

“Oh, Ma.” He went to her place at the foot of the table and touched his cheek to hers. “Nothing is going to happen to me. Tell her, Pa.”

His old man chuckled and shook his head, but offered no encouragement.

Taking her chin, Clay turned her face toward him. “Now Ma, I’m a man, and I’m going. Sure don’t want to leave with hard feelings between us, but my bag is packed. You going to tell me goodbye or not?”

Her eyes shot fire, and he thought he was about to see her blow her top like he’d never seen before.

Then without another word spoken, tears filled her eyes and extinguished the flames. She melted into a helpless, broken woman, one to be pitied. He had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing. That’d be a terrible thing.

Been a long time since he’d seen her speechless. Though already sitting, she sank more into her chair.

“Best kiss your old ma ’fore you go. Probably be the last time I’ll see you in this world, but that’s fine. We can be together in Heaven for all eternity. I love you, Clay.”

If memory served, exactly what she told him when he stayed only an hour before the last time he left and rode back to the Buckmeyers. “You’ll outlive us all, Ma.”

A tear trickled down her cheek. “How can I with my baby gone to the gold fields? You’ll be just like all the rest. The fever will get you, and I’ll never lay eyes on you again.” She sniffed and the tears flowed in earnest.

He patted her back then bent over and whispered in her ear. “I love you, Ma, and I’m coming back in the spring so I can ask Gwendolyn to marry me. I’ll bring you a pretty new dress to wear to my wedding.” He kissed her forehead.

“There’s no need for new dresses. Won’t be no fancy wedding.” She shook her head. “Henry never going to allow it, Clay. Then you’ll be right back out to California heartbroken, grubbing in the dirt after the mother lode.”

“Not if God still answers prayers, Ma.”

She turned on him, wiped her eyes, then shooed him away, sweeping him off with all her fingers. “Go on. Ruin your life. Break your ma’s heart—I won’t say a word about all the extra work you’re putting on me and your father and brothers.”

Clay backed up a step. “I’ll write, Ma.”

Her chin drooped all the way to her bodice. “Don’t bother, Son. I’ll be six feet under before that first letter could get here.”

Twice more Elijah’s new friend’s mother tried to get Clay to stay, then after he wouldn’t even agree to hold up long enough for the big Fourth of July shindig, she made him get down from the wagon and give her one last tearful hug.

Elijah wasn’t sure if he pitied or envied the boy-man. His own mother had left with his father seeking their fortune with hardly a look back. They did leave him the shop and all the tools pap figured he wouldn’t need, but not much else.

The fever did strange things to folks; apparently, Ma Higgs had seen it, too, or heard about it anyway. His parents talked about the Lord some but didn’t bother with church, and obviously figured him mature enough to be on his own.

Or either they let themselves get caught up in the rush and didn’t really care.

Some fine day, hopefully they’d come home.

The irony brought a chuckle.

“What’s funny?”

Elijah glanced over.

Clay glared. “You laughing at my ma?”

“No, not at all. She just loves you. Can’t fault a mother for that. I was thinking about mine.”

The boy’s face softened. “What about her?”

“She left with my pap back in ’50. The fever got them. What I always find humorous when I think about her is that I had no interest in prospecting, but the Lord brought me all the gold I’ll ever need. And a way better example of a Godly man than my father ever was.”

“You talking about Jethro Risen?”

“Yes, sir, and right up there with him, I’d name Henry Buckmeyer.”

“You know he’s killed ten men.”

“Heard that, but according to Mary Rachel, not a one of them who didn’t need killing.”

“Maybe so, but the man…” Clay shook his head. “I was at church that day, but didn’t see it.” He grinned. “Too busy stuffing my face. But Pa had himself a front row seat when Frank Cooper took a shot at Mister Henry. According to all the reports, he ran straight at the drunk, gun or no.”

“No one could ever call him a coward.”

“No, sir. But then if Levi Baylor hadn’t of been there to pull him off, Henry would have beat the man to death.”

“Can’t say I would have blamed him. The man just shot him, not to mention put all the Buckmeyers’ lives in danger—everyone there as a matter of fact.”

“And have you heard about the big fight between Henry and that Bull guy in New Orleans?”

“Guess so. One of Jean Paul’s cousins was talking about it. How Henry had to fight this guy so he’d sell him Miss Jewel’s brother. Big Hoss, right? That what you’re talking about?”

“Figure it is, but the way I heard it, Henry was getting the worst of it, but then finally got Bull on the ropes. Would have beat that one to death, too, ’cept Levi Baylor pulled him off again.”

Pulling the wagon over to the far right, Elijah made room for a family he hadn’t met and tipped his hat as they passed.

“Still, if the cousins’ version is true. The bad blood between the two went all the way back to the War of 1812, and that Glover set up the fight his own self.”

“That’s what I heard, too.” A moment’s silence hung between in the air, as though Clay watched a scene unfolding on his mind’s eye. “But still, I wouldn’t expect Mister Henry to turn the other cheek if I was so stupid as to slap him.”

That tickled Elijah. The image of the boy slapping the man. At first he did his best to keep it in his belly, but he couldn’t hold it in and erupted in a full blown volley.

“What now?”

Elijah laughed so hard, his eyes watered and nose dripped. The boy lost his anger and joined in without even knowing what he was laughing about. But finally he found himself. “Oh, the thought of you slapping Henry. Just more than I could take.”

“I’s only laughing at your silly guffaws.” The tone came back.

“You’re not a fool, Clay.” Elijah wiped his eyes dry on his sleeve. “Hitting the father of the girl you love would be about the most ludicrous thing ever. You’ve got to admit.”

Clay bumped his shoulder. “You cussing me?” His tone sounded jovial again, not angry. “What does that word mean? Ludicrous?”

“Preposterous.”

“Oh.”

Clay wanted to ask what preposterous meant, but figured he already showed enough of his lack of education. Wasn’t his fault his pap had two bad years in a row, and he had to help in the fields instead of running off to the schoolhouse.

Then when things turned around, didn’t seem right him sitting all day with a bunch of urchins, while his father and brothers worked. But he did know that word. Jake had called him one for as long as he could remember.

Might prove a good idea to get the heat off him. “So how much schooling you get?”

“None. Well, Ma taught me what she knew. The rest I got from books. Always loved reading. And well, good Lord blessed me with a keen eye. Sometimes I amaze myself.”

Clay studied on the man for a few turns of the wagon’s wheels. “How so?”

“Have I told you the story of when I met Moses Jones?”

“No, can’t say as I recall you ever mentioning exactly how you met your other partner.”

“Early on, Jethro Risen wouldn’t come to town—on account of the China Doll, but that’s another story—anyway, Moses shows up with one of Risen’s drawings. Wants to know how quick I could forge it.” The man chuckled.