Daughters of the Heart (20 page)

The baby girls evidently grew like weeds, and Mary Rachel went on and on how cute and what a help Francy was mothering them both like they were more hers than her new mother’s.

Only three pages of news, rather short for one of her sister’s.

But seeing as how she stayed so busy most days with the Mercantile, and the babies, and the new orphanage Jethro was building and the gold mine, too, the wonder was her writing at all.

Having enough to tell didn’t hinder a thing, that’s for sure and certain. Gwen had hoped to hear a little more about Clay or Elijah other than that they arrived safely.

Probably her sister just didn’t want to steal any of their thunder.

Without incident—no rain or getting stuck and pushing, or highway men for her father to shoot—the stage pulled into the bustling city in after only eight hours of bounding and swaying over the Jefferson Trace.

It would have tickled her how early the old folks called it a night if she hadn’t wanted to see the sights.

But of late, Crockett always cried to sleep in his mama’s bed as though he knew something was afoot with her swelling tummy.

Seeing Daddy together with May made her wish Braxton had met them in Jefferson and that they were already married. One day soon, she’d have a husband to flirt with and tease.

Were they so naïve to think she didn’t realize what they were up to?

As instructed, she locked herself in her hotel room and braced a chair against the knob. What could happen with her daddy right across the hall?

After changing into her nightgown and robe, she sat at the table and turned the wick up on its oil lamp then fingered Clay’s envelope. Did she really want to read it? Her heart already belonged to Braxton.

Maybe the Lord delayed its arrival because He knew who He made her for. Still, poor Clay. Too bad she hadn’t known he’d written, but it wouldn’t change anything.

No, she wouldn’t read it. Be too much like being unfaithful to Braxton. She laid it on the table then picked it back up. What would it hurt? Wasn’t like she was doing anything wrong.

Could be he wrote to tell her he’d found someone else and would be staying in California.

After all, he’d still be her friend. Right? What would it hurt to hear about his trip? She tediously ripped the end off then shook out the pages. All seven of them.

July 3
rd

Dear Gwen,

      We’re in Jefferson, I was so shocked that you were

waiting for us in Clarksville. What a great surprise. I love

you and miss you already, but I think me going with Elijah

will turn out for the best. It’s just so hard being apart from

you. I’m praying for you every day and that it all works

out like He wants it. I think it will.

July 4
th

Dear lady, I watched the fireworks from the river

Never been on a steamboat before. It’s like a floating

       hotel, or better. Well not for all the poorer folks on the

lower decks. I wish you were here. Shame it ain’t you

taking this trip with me, it could’ve been our honeymoon.

But I’m learning so much from Elijah. I love you sweet

Gwen.

He’d missed her from the start.

All of a sudden it was hard to swallow.

His twelve-year-old smile across the Sunday covered-dish table flashed across her mind’s eye, then the time he’d won the three legged-race with Jake, he’d pumped his fist in the air, grinning right at her.

Of course she was jumping up and down, cheering his whole way. And when he walked back into church after being gone for so long harvesting, he’d grown so tall and had muscles. Her heartbeat increased just as it had that day.

Dear Lord, he’s been my friend so long. I always thought….

July 5
th

Tears blurred her vision, pooling in her eyes.

Why was she being so silly? One escaped and rolled down her cheek. The pages slipped from her hands. This wasn’t right. These feelings were wrong. She loved Braxton, for goodness sakes. Right now she was on her way to him.

What if he died with the fever?

Maybe she shouldn’t have sent that letter to Clay. Why had she been in such a hurry? And why had she insisted on going to Clarksville to see him off? She wiped both cheeks and blinked until she could see again.

Though needing rest, she wasn’t the least bit sleepy. She stood, trimmed the wick, then sat down and turned it right back up. Couldn’t leave the mess.

Retrieving the pages that fell to the floor, she scooped up the rest of Clay’s letter and tapped all the pages on the table, straightening them. He’d taken the time to write. The least she could do was read his words. It’d be downright rude not to.

Braxton would just have to understand, if he ever knew.

Right? 

“Junior, sir?”

Braxton held a hand
up, then continued counting, but said the numbers out loud; the last stevedore passed in front of him and disappeared into the warehouse. “Sixty-three.” He marked the ledger then turned.

The Glovers’ oldest house slave stood on the pier behind him. “What is it, Uncle?”

“Your father say for you to get home in a hurry. Without delay, he say.”

“What about the count? The gang will be right back, and he’ll get cheated for sure.”

The man nodded. “Him say, ‘You take Junior’s place.’ ”

Braxton handed over the ledger. Never knew the old boy could read and write. “Did he say why?”

“No, sir.”

Curiosity spurred him from the wharf to Bourbon Street faster than normal. What was more important than seeing to business? He found his father upstairs in his room staring out the window.

The stale stench of the old man’s Cuban cigars and his hideous purple velvet drapes accosted his senses.

“What’s so important?”

“Gwendolyn is here.”

His breath caught. “Here as…in New Orleans?” He never dreamed she’d come. “How do you know? Where is she?”

“The stupid girl is in the company of her father and her stepmother. Staying at the St. Charles.” The man glared at him. “Did I not stress to you that she come alone? What’s the matter with you?”

“You did. And I assure you there’s nothing wrong with me, Father.” He exhaled, thinking of Gwendolyn, then the realization that Henry Buckmeyer was in the same town quickened his pulse. “Is Baylor or Rusk with him?”

“No, just the three of them. He made an inquiry at the desk about the whereabouts of one Braxton Hightower.”

He waited for the old man to finish, but he seemed to relish tormenting him. “And? What did the clerk tell him?”

“The truth of course. That he didn’t know the man. Only Hightower he knew of had a plantation down river a ways.”

“Is Henry going there? Did he say?”

“Don’t know, but your mother’s people don’t know anything.”

“Henry’s smart though. He might piece it all together.”

Bull shook his head. “I doubt it. But what I want to know is why you didn’t tell that young woman of yours to come alone.”

“I never dreamed she’d come at all. Figured I could use getting the fever as my excuse for not coming there.”

He shook his head. “You’re a fool, Bubs. Didn’t it occur to you that she’d want to come nurse you back to health?”

“No, it never did. But it’s done, and she came. What are we going to do now?”

“You—for now—nothing. Stay here, lay low. I’ve dispatched Sofia to keep an eye on them.”

“What! Why? What if they spot her?”

“Oh, hold your mules. All down but nine, boy.” The old man shook his head as though disgusted. “What’s another nigger gal to those blue at the mizen Buckmeyers? She won’t stick out a bit, one of a thousand in New Orleans. And they don’t know her from the next darkie.” He stroked his goatee. “Henry won this round but he’ll get his just dessert.”

Braxton hated him for calling her either name. She wasn’t dark at all, and his father’s vindictive obsession with his old rival was beyond the pale, but until he could raise enough money to pay him off, he couldn’t say much otherwise.

“So what’s your plan?”

“Don’t know yet, but once I decide exactly what to do, I’ll not have you trying to beat the devil around the stump. You hear?”  

Gwen took a sip of tea and spied another piece of crystal-encrusted, wrought-iron gracing the little café down the street from the hotel. She’d seen grand and gaudy a plenty in Europe. What a trip. She could never have imagined.

Perhaps she could surprise Braxton with tickets as a wedding gift.

But New Orleans offered its own special kind of ambiance that meshed the two—iron and crystal—into an interesting marriage. And the city’s pulse truly surprised her. She hadn’t expected it.

A quarter-beat ahead of most, but with a song that worked its way into the depths of her being. Interesting indeed, but she would not want to live there.

“Have you noticed that girl across the street?”

“Girl?” Gwen focused on her stepmother’s words. “What girl? Which street?” She glanced in the direction May’s eyes pointed, but the street teemed with activity.

And across it, the walks were crowded with men and women moving cargo and themselves in almost every direction. On the corner a musician played a banjo. “Which one?”

“No, no. Don’t look. She’ll know we’re talking about her. But I’d almost swear she has been staring at you for the last ten minutes.”

“Where?” She pretended to sip her tea, but couldn’t help cutting her eyes across the brick street still damp from the morning dew. Then she spotted her. No mistaking. The young woman glanced away the minute their eyes locked.

Had Gwen seen embarrassment? The light-skinned Negro sat under a gay red and yellow awning, back in its shadows.

The dark-haired beauty with curly ringlets falling over her shoulders glared. Was the woman glowering at Gwen? She turned and looked over her shoulder, half expecting to see a man who’d done the lady wrong, but there seemed to be no one.

What could she have possibly done to warrant such disdain?

“I think you’re right.” Gwen leaned back, took another sip of tea, and smiled at May. “Certainly don’t know what I’ve done to her. Shall we wait for Daddy inside?”

“No, I suppose not. She seems harmless, and our food will be here soon. It definitely is odd though.”

“Yes, ma’am.” She would have preferred getting away from the piercing gaze. Why if those daggers she slung were…then again, she and May both had Derringers in their clutches. She’d hate to kill anyone, but the young lady might need winging if she did anything other than stare.

Turning her shoulder in that direction, she determined to ignore her.

May had the best view to keep an eye on her. Plus, the mulatto never once looked at May, just Gwen. Very strange.

The food came. Flaky croissants loaded with cream cheese and ham, garnished with fresh tomato slices and a spicy yellow pickled pepper Gwen couldn’t recognize. She ate half, then set her fork down and tried in vain to wash the burn from her mouth.

“Wow.” She patted her chest with her fingertips. Great tasting, but plenty spicy.”

“I know, but I love them. Ate one first thing of a morning for…” Her stepmother looked away.

“What?”

She looked back. “Oh, I wasn’t a lot older than you the first time I came here.”

Gwen smiled then gave the older woman a four-finger, give-it-up hand curl.

“Not too far from here is a place the locals call the Swamp. It isn’t somewhere a young lady should ever go. But I did have Chester, and well…” She grimaced and leaned in close. “I’d just gotten my inheritance money, and…well…the gentry don’t play stud poker or shoot dice or…”

“Daddy know about this?”

“Yes, dear. He and I have no secrets.”

“So it’s like a place where people go to gamble?”

“Well, not really like one, it is such a place. One casino after another for a city block. All of them nothing but dins of iniquity.”

“Take me. Please. I want to see this place.”

“No, ma’am, not me. I will never go there again. Only a fool returns to her folly.”

Like a dog to his – but Gwen didn’t finish the verse even in her mind, much less give it voice. “How far is the post office?”

“Not too.”

“Good, I’m past ready to see Mister Hightower.” She scooted the peppers to the side and cleaned her plate. They’d see. Braxton would clear up the misunderstanding, and then she could get serious about planning her wedding.

The girl’s papa joined the two women, except the girl—the one nasty old father wanted her man to marry—was no woman, not even full-grown yet. Maybe only sixteen. And skin so sickie pale.

Humph. She’d never work in the fields one day in her whole life. Probably not a lick of good for nothing ’cept spend all the Glovers’ money.

Tiny little thing could never birth a baby. 

Sofia hated all three of them.

The man ’cause he bring Missy Whiter-than-snow to her town and the girl’s mam for birthing her, except the two didn’t favor none at all. But no matter. Only important thing be her man buying herself free.

And if that meant sharing him with the weakly, fancy girl from Texas, so be it.

Being free would be worth it all. Sweeter than honey and all she want in the wide world.

And Bubba promised.

The females cut enough glances her way to be certain they seen her. Probably talking about her, too, but she didn’t care. Mister Bull only say watch them, tell him everything they was up to.

Where they go, what they do. She liked the job. Beat working in the house or having to sweat all day on the docks.

One day she would own her own self, and then she could do whatever she wanted. No boss to make her do something she never want to.

The papa stood, looked right at her, then walked into the stream of folks hurrying along. Dodging buggies, he come straight toward her. Her heart beat like the Congo drums. She looked both ways.

What would he do to her? She jumped to her feet. Like a swamp deer running from a ’gater, bolted for Bourbon Street.

After telling Bull everything she saw, she joined Bubba in his room. At first, she held her tongue like the good slave she was, but he just sat there playing with his cards, not paying her one bit of mind. She tried not to let it show, but she hated him, too.

He say he love her and promise freedom one day, but he be mean to her whenever he wants, and his love be too rough.

He looked up from his stupid game. “Why’d you come back so soon?”

“The girl’s mam saw me looking. Sent the papa to grab me, but I run for my life before he got close.”

“I told the old man it was a bad idea to send you.”

“You lie to me.”

“About what?”

“That baby girl. She’s prettier than me. Her skin so white and pure, not like her mam at all. And that hair the color of gold. You be such a liar.”