Daughters of the Heart (28 page)

That same morning, one hundred and eighty-three miles west as the crow flies, after fretting over every bump and little noise for the second sleepless night, Sofia decided Braxton wasn’t coming back.

A full twenty-four hours late from when he promised to be, meant she was fixin’ to owe another night’s rent.

Why didn’t he come? He might have gone and got himself killed.

What could she do?

Already paid the clerk for last night, but she had no intent of giving him any more of the coin in the leather belt Bubba had hid in her carpetbag. She hadn’t dared to empty the thing and count all the blood money old Bull sent.

Figured it was probably heavy enough to buy herself. But who could she get to handle the exchange?

She shook her head. If she intended to steal his coin to buy her freedom, might as well just steal herself, too. Bubba had told the clerk he needed a room for him and his wife.

After that, the man called her Madam Glover every time he seen her, including yesterday when he came around for more money. She lifted her chin, and studied herself in the looking glass.

No way could she pass back home, but here in the wilderness she just might. She knew how to put on airs, read and write enough to get by. Thanks to Auntie Tess for that little favor. She hugged herself, all dressed in her fancy clothes.

Might work. The thought of old Bull realizing he’d lost Bubba and her put a grin on her face.

Having his blood money tickled her even more.

Lifting her dress, she kneeled on the floor next to the bed then pulled the carpetbag from under the bed, resisted counting the Double Eagles, but did retrieve Bubba’s map. She spread it out on the made bed and traced the line he’d drawn from Fort Worth to Clarksville.

It didn’t seem so far.

Mister Henry Buckmeyer might even give her a reward for bringing word of what Braxton and Bull had planned. For sure he’d help her find herself a new home. Everyone been talking about how California was the place to go.

Might find herself a rich miner. And best of all, no one there needed to know she’d been born a slave.

Cecelia could hardly stand not knowing what Clay told Gwen. But even more, the change in Elijah worried her.

What could it be?

The one and only time she mustered the courage to ask, bless the Lord, he claimed he hadn’t had a change of heart, but only lifted one shoulder and whispered that he needed to talk with Daddy.

But he didn’t elaborate or even give her a clue as to what troubled him. After Gwen returned, she kept herself busy as though she didn’t want to be alone with Cecelia or Mama either and share about the trip.

Tickled her some the way Mama grilled Daddy over why he’d spent the night with Clay and his mama instead of going to Rebecca and Wallace’s like he’d planned.

Like the new widow could even hold a candle to May.

Her daddy kissed away her jealousy then even made her laugh. Cecelia loved the way those two carried on, and couldn’t wait until she and Elijah could express their love to the world like that.

In a peculiar way, it made her sad it wasn’t Daddy loving her own mother. Shame Mama had to pass too soon.

Which did he love more? Did he even know?

It really didn’t matter.

He proved his love, mourning for such a long time.

Mis’ess Broomfield had become the talk of the valley marrying again so soon. Cecelia didn’t want to even think about losing her Elijah, so she went back to figuring out the best way to get her sister to cough up what had happened.

Finally after supper, once her beloved excused himself from the parlor, Gwen threw a nod toward the stairs. “Want to help me get Crockett down? I promised Mama I’d see to him tonight.”

“Of course.” Then to her chagrin, her elder sister included Bonnie.

Once her little brother finally stopped fidgeting and took to blowing the little sleep bubbles he favored, Gwen motioned for Bonnie to take him to the bed, then looked to CeCe. “Has Elijah said anything about where you two are going to live?”

Well, that certainly was not what she expected. “No, not that I recall. Why?”

“Because Clay says he’s going back to California. He doesn’t want to live in Texas.”

“Oh no!” That was terrible. She’d never considered ever leaving Clarksville. Rebecca and Wallace living fifteen miles away proved bad enough, but they still got to see them Sundays and holidays. “What about your dream house?”

“He doesn’t care, says he doesn’t want to farm or ranch or log timber, and.…”

“Gwendolyn!” Bonnie scooted to the edge of the bed. “You can’t!” The youngest sister turned to Cecelia. “You can. You’ll have Elijah, and Mary Rachel’s there, so you won’t be too lonely.”

Ignoring the little brat’s meanness, she turned toward her big sister. “What are you going to do? Did he ask you to go there with him?”

She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I knew sort of how bad his Ma…you know her reputation…I never dreamed. He said he’s sick of being the baby all the time. That’s why he left in the first place. Plus he hates farming and ranching and logging.”

The desire to run all the way to Elijah’s room swept over her, but she’d promised Daddy never to go there again, and.… “What are you going to do?”

“Nothing right now. He hasn’t exactly forgiven me yet. I told him I loved him and had all along. How him not writing—or me thinking he hadn’t—he really was. I just didn’t know it. And that cad Braxton being so smooth and grown up and.… Oh just wait, CeCe! Clay is changed, it’s like he….”

“What? Like he what? Why’d you stop talking?”

“Oh, I don’t know, but when we were visiting, talking about things, and he mentioned the trip on a steamer being rather pleasant…seemed he might have been remembering someone.”

“Oh no! Do you think he’s fallen in love with someone else? He couldn’t! Did he say anything about her?”

“No, but now that I’m thinking about it, that’s what it has to be. I mean he acted nice enough, but so distant. Not at all his usually gushy self.”

Leaning in closer, Cecelia’s heart hurt for her sister. “That’s awful, but it isn’t like you don’t have your own past to keep hid.”

Bonnie slid off the bed. “What’s she talking about, Gwen?”

Her biggest sister still at home grinned at Bonnie, but only shook her head, like she could share with Cecelia but not her. She loved the one closest in age, but hated her, too.

For six or twenty heartbeats, Bonnie ran all the numbers, and there appeared only one answer that it could be.

“Braxton kissed you, didn’t he? You let him kiss you when you were in New Orleans, didn’t you?” She rubbed her hands together. “Tell me all about it. You shouldn’t keep a kiss from me. Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

Gwen glared, but Bonnie didn’t look away. Finally, her sister smiled a rather sinister grin. “You best keep your mouth shut if you know what’s good for you, little girl.”

Well, that took the pie and
the cake! Bonnie’s big sister acted almost as pigheaded as Daddy, and that was saying a lot in a long day. She returned Gwen’s smirky smile. She’d show her!

Keep her mouth shut indeed. She tore her glare off Gwen and bore into Cecelia. “And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Have you kissed Elijah?”

“That is none of your business, young lady.”

If that didn’t tell the tale, she wasn’t a Methodist! So her big sisters were trollops, shameless hussies of the kissing kind. “You, too, huh? And I suppose you both know all each other’s secrets, don’t you?”

Neither answered, but the truth was written all over their guilty faces. She couldn’t believe it and jumped to her feet. “I hate you both for leaving me out. Y’all are so mean! I’m a sister, too! But you treat me like Lacey!”

“Don’t be silly, Bonnie Claire.” Gwen glanced to the bed and crossed her lips with a finger. “Be quiet now before you wake up Crockett or you’ll be the one taking care of his fussy self.”

“Are you insinuating that we….”

“Shush.” Gwen gave CeCe the eye and took Bonnie’s hand then pulled her in close. “We both love you, little sister, but truth be told—and you know I’m right—you cannot keep your pretty little mouth shut.”

She pulled away. “Can to! But no one tells me anything or takes me into their confidence because everyone hates me!” Willing tears to her eyes, she crossed her arms over her chest and glanced at both sisters. She was getting to them.

“What could I ever say to anyone if I never know anything? So. Neither one of you trust me…and you hate me…but I love you. I promised with both of you never to break Daddy’s heart, and that makes me a true sister, but you always leave me out.”

The tears overflowed and ran down her cheeks.

The oldest pointed to the spot in front of her. “Sit down here.”

It was working.

Studying Bonnie, CeCe squinted. “Don’t do it, Gwen.”

Bonnie glared at her then kneeled down in front of her best sister, at least of those two.

She grinned and sat back on her heels. “Why do I have to sit here? Just so you can lecture me? You going to tell me how the cow ate the cabbage?” She wiped her face on her sleeve. “Well?”

“Number one, we do not hate you. You’re just young, Bonnie, still a little girl—I know you’re twelve, and getting more grown every day—but when you’re eighteen, you’ll be able to understand grown up things better.”

Gwen glanced over and gave a little nod, but CeCe only shook her head.

Then the oldest looked straight back at Bonnie and stared into her eyes for a long minute. “You’re right. I did kiss Braxton, and he kissed me back.”

Wanting to hear more, the whole story, she waited, but Gwendolyn didn’t say anything else. “And?”

“And what?”

“Where were you? How long did the kiss last? Was it wonderful? When did it happen? I mean, obviously, in New Orleans, right? But where? Inside? Outside? I know for sure wherever it happened, Daddy and Mama weren’t around. Give me all the details.”

Two nights hence, Clay studied on the sliver of moon from his bed.

The day had been unseasonably warm, but the night breeze that waved the opened curtains blew cool and sweet. High wispy clouds drifted in front of the lesser light, adding no credence to his ma’s claim of snow coming.

Nevermind the lack of any storm clouds or how seldom it snowed in Texas, she swore she could feel it in her bones. The woman had been so wrong so many times over the years about the weather, but that never stopped her from acting like whatever came out of her mouth was the truth.

His mother was wrong about him, too. He didn’t know why she kept on believing he wasn’t leaving or wouldn’t even breach the subject.

‘No, sir, Clayton Butterfield Briggs! You are not going back to California. Your mama needs you right here with me.’ The words played over and over in his mind, never changing.

Like using his whole name made it so. He loved her for sure, but she’d never treat him like a grown man no matter how old he got. And especially with Pa in the ground, her bossiness only got worse.

Guess no one realized how much his father had reined her in.

Love. What a strange, horrible, wonderful emotion. The part of Clay that tried to tell him he’d fallen in love with the Widow Volker had been silenced by Gwen’s declaration.

She loved him. He so wanted to believe her.

Words spoken with her own mouth. He hadn’t even asked either. The wound her letter opened still bled some days, and it pained him how easily she’d been blinded by such a scoundrel, but her wanting to marry Clay—and saying so—went a long way toward healing the hurt she’d caused.

Braxton was a dandy slicker if ever he’d seen one. Clay had spotted that right off. Would every smooth talker who came along turn his beloved’s head?

Barring the snow that he was pretty sure wasn’t coming, the brothers would finish getting that last block laid by, and then he’d be gone. Jake and Clovie and their brood would be living there in the big house, and Ma would have plenty of help.

A chuckle escaped. She could make Jasper her new favorite. She already called him Clayton half the time.

Yes, sir, from there, he’d head to the Buckmeyer’s, then with or without Gwen, on to San Francisco.

Well, if she did agree to go, there’d have to be a big wedding and all, then not one day after that would he be found in Texas.

Covering the thirty-two miles from Fort Worth to Dallas took Sofia two full days, and more coin than she wanted to part with. After only half a day of waiting there, she caught the stage to Mount Pleasant.

She really loved how the scenery changed to lots of trees, huge trees that grew so tall they might just touch God’s blue sky.

The sense of being free and the wonderful way people treated her all dressed up in her fancy clothes thrilled her, except she hated wearing shoes. She’d quickly learned to keep her chin high, and that with a little batting of her eyelashes, most men would do about anything she needed done.

Barely able to quit smiling, she cherished the inner joy that overcame any fear or worry.

Besides, she didn’t care what Bubba thought. If he was even alive. Successful in sneaking out past the clerk, she hoped the buffoon might think she’d been stolen. Or worse, killed. Then he wouldn’t even come looking.

Since she had to layover that night, she found a nice boardinghouse and rented a room without a hitch.

Oh, how she loved being her own boss!

The next morning after a big breakfast at a lovely little café, she boarded The Belle for the last leg of her trip to Clarksville. As the trump sounded her arrival in Buckmeyer’s home town, she allowed herself a full breath. She’d made it.

No one had questioned her status, not once. It seemed the gold coins she carried went a long way in overcoming the color of her skin.

Yes, ma’am, she just kept getting lighter and whiter. If only she could be there to see the look on old Bull’s face when he realized his prized piece of property was gone.

But then she didn’t want to be within a thousand miles of New Orleans ever again. If only her mama could be with her. None of her folks would ever want her not to run though.

No, sir, not if the chance presented itself. And here she was. She looked up at the gray sky where clouds darkened, threatening a storm, and thanked the Good Lord that horrible and evil Bull Glover would never have control over her again.

And while his son confessed his love, he still got born with the same mean, cruel blood.

No storm could dampen her cheer. She was a free woman!  

The stage skidded to a stop in the middle of town. A ruffian jumped out first. The man had been eyeing her the whole way since Titus’ Trading Post, but the other man—a gentleman by his dress—nodded for her to go ahead.

“Thank you, sir.”

She loved being treated like a lady.

Soon enough, the driver opened the boot and retrieved her carpetbag, then she strolled into the Donoho Hotel’s lobby. What a grand room. Mister Donoho certainly had good taste and must have been a wealthy man.

Scanning the lobby, she tried to decide whether or not she should get a room.

Her new money pouch she’d purchased that morning and wore between her camisole and dress seemed to be slipping, but she resisted the urge to hitch it up. She stepped over to the clerk’s desk.

“Good afternoon.” Her accent kept improving all the time. That had sounded almost white, certainly uppity.

The man gave her a toothy grin then turned the big registry book to face her. “And to you, ma’am. Need a room?”

“Perhaps. First though, do you happen to know Mister Henry Buckmeyer?”

“Of course, who doesn’t? He’s the richest man in the Red River Valley.”

Richest man? She had no idea. “Would you be so kind as to direct me to his home?”

“He and his live out south of here, five maybe six miles. How was you planning on getting there?” He leaned a bit toward her and grinned real big. “I’d be glad to take you if you want. I have a buggy.”

“Why, that would be so kind. Of course, I’d pay you.”

“Naw. That won’t be necessary at all. Any friend of Henry’s is a friend of mine. If you can wait a minute or five, I’ll get Leland, he’s my cousin, to watch the desk.”

“Thank you, but I’d planned to have a bite of dinner before I leave.” She returned the man’s silly grin, but having dealt with letches her whole life, she knew this one had more than giving a lady a ride on his mind. Henry’s friend indeed. “And so I thank you, but that won’t be necessary.” She backed up a step. “South, you say? Five or six miles?”

The clerk’s face hardened, and he leaned back. “Indians and bandits are bad in these parts. Hate for your new year to start off all wrong. I wouldn’t strike out on my own if I was you.”

She nodded then turned and marched out. Indians and bandits? Was the man serious?

Across the square, a café caught her attention. Her clutch held enough coin to pay for a meal, but it wouldn’t do letting anyone know she had fifty-two Double Eagles hiding under her dress; knew folks who’d got their fool throats slit for less.

Halfway through her plate of meatloaf and creamed potatoes, an older man of color strolled in. He looked around then took a seat in the far corner.