Samuel stroked his jaw. “That’s hard to believe, Jackson. I never knew your father to be a man who would loan money to any of his sharecroppers.”
“Well, he did!” Jackson jumped to his feet. “Are you calling me a
liar,
Dr. Boyle?”
Before Samuel could reply, his wife walked into the room carrying a perfectly browned apple pie on a tray. “I apologize for my delay.” She met Samuel’s stern gaze. “Is something amiss?”
“Father is attempting to malign Jackson and his family,” Macia accused.
Samuel laughed. “I’m doing no such thing. Do sit down, my dear.”
Margaret placed a thick slice of pie on each of the four china plates. “Is your mother in good health, Jackson?”
“She’s become overwrought with these recent events,” he said as he forked a bite of the pie. “Our sharecroppers and even some of our household servants decided to come west and try their hand at homesteading. We’ve been told a goodly number were coming to Kansas.”
Samuel dropped his fork. “So
that’s
why you’re here! You believe your sharecroppers have come west to settle in Nicodemus!”
“Jackson came to Hill City to see
me
. Isn’t that correct?” Macia’s voice was unusually high-pitched.
Jackson cleared his throat and shifted in his chair. “It’s true I planned to see you. . . .”He hesitated.
Samuel hunched forward. “But visiting Macia isn’t what precipitated this visit, is it?”
“I need to get those sharecroppers back or we’ll lose our crops, our income. Someone has to work the fields. They never should have outlawed slavery—”
Macia gasped and clasped a hand to her chest. “Jackson!”
Samuel was on his feet now. “You’re no longer welcome in my home, Jackson.” He pointed at the front door.
Jackson turned a pleading gaze on Mrs. Boyle. “But . . . I haven’t made any arrangements. . . .”
A wicked gleam shone in Macia’s eyes. “There’s a nice little sod hotel right down the street. Watch out for snakes.”
After Jackson had stormed out and Margaret had returned to the kitchen, Macia sat down next to Samuel. “I must tell you something, Father.”
“You look serious. What’s all this secretive business?”
“The Harbans—Truth’s family. They were sharecroppers at the Kincaid plantation.”
Samuel reeled back as though he’d been punched in the midsection. “Ezekiel never mentioned the Kincaids. Are you certain? How do you know?”
“I read the information in a letter Truth wrote to Jarena.”
“You read Truth’s private mail? I can’t believe—”
Macia grasped her father’s arm. “It wasn’t intentional. I picked up her lessons to correct them. The letter to Jarena was at the bottom of the stack. I truly didn’t realize what it was until I’d begun to examine the contents. When I saw she was writing about the Kincaids, I continued to read. I know my behavior was improper.”
Samuel nodded. “ ’Tis true your behavior was distasteful, but what’s done can’t now be changed. Does Truth know you read the letter?”
“We’ve never discussed the matter, though I’m certain she believes I perused the contents. From what I read, I don’t believe Mr. Harban owes money to the Kincaids. But if they worked on their plantation . . .”
“Jackson may
allege
that Ezekiel owes him money.”
“Yes,” Macia whispered. “Jackson has proved to be everything you thought. I fear I’m a terrible judge of character.”
Her father pulled her into a comforting embrace. “We all make mistakes, some more painful than others. You were impressed by Jackson’s worldly possessions and let his wealth blind you. Now that you see him clearly, you realize your error. The next step is to learn from your mistake so that you don’t experience the same pain again.”
She smiled. “I don’t think I’ll be blinded by anyone’s wealth or power so long as we’re living in Hill City.”
“Jackson’s the one who’s blind, my dear. He doesn’t even realize he’s permitting a lovely young woman to slip through his fingers. In fact, you’ve matured immeasurably since moving to Hill City. However, I’ll not be the one to tell him!”
Samuel maneuvered the buggy close to the end of the field where Ezekiel was working. Hat in hand, Samuel waved wildly before jumping down. “Ezekiel! I need to talk with you.”
The two men walked toward each other, their feet sinking into the soft black loam.
Ezekiel extended his large hand. “This here’s an unexpected surprise. You come to Nicodemus to meet all our new arrivals?”
He shook his head. “While I’m eager to get acquainted with the new folks, there’s another matter that brings me to Nicodemus. A matter that could spell trouble for you as well as some other residents. We need to talk.”
“Sounds serious. Let’s sit down over dere—that’s usually where I eat my dinner. That lone tree provides me a bit of shade.”
A short time later, the two men sat facing each other in the meager shade provided by the sprawling bush that Ezekiel had munificently described as a tree. There was little time for elaborate explanation. With quick precision, Samuel presented Jackson’s allegations of his sharecroppers owing money and then awaited Ezekiel’s response.
Ezekiel took a long swallow from the earthen water jug Jarena had sent. “I don’t owe no man money, Dr. Boyle. I worked hard to save the money I used to buy this here land, and ain’t no man, Kincaid or otherwise, gonna prove no different.”
“I’ve not seen them, but Jackson tells me he’s in possession of signed notes for the debts owed to his family.”
Ezekiel frowned. “I ain’t never signed no paper. Kincaid treated us bad as slaves, Dr. Boyle, and he didn’t do no better when we was sharecropping. Didn’t much of nothin’ change ceptin’ we had to pay rent for them same rundown quarters we was livin’ in. By the time ol’ Mr. Kin- caid held out his rent money, we didn’t have hardly nothin’ left to buy food. But afore she died, my wife, Jennie, was mighty careful with the money. She made sure we saved—maybe not much, but we saved. And that’s what I used to buy this here land.”
“I believe you, Ezekiel, but you’re likely correct. The only way to get Jackson Kincaid out of Nicodemus is to prove his claims are nothing but lies.”
“Iffen you think it’s best, I’ll go back with you and talk with the Kincaid young’un.”
Samuel nodded. They left Ezekiel’s hoe in the field where he’d dropped it a short time ago and made their way to the buggy, stepping over the blue-eyed prairie grass, which had begun to blossom only a few weeks earlier. They rode in silence, and as they neared the center of Nicodemus, Samuel spied Harvey. Then he saw Jackson Kincaid outside the Harris dugout. Miss Hattie was following behind Jackson, slapping her parasol on his shoulder none too gently.
The old woman waved the parasol over her head when she spied the buggy. “Get on over here, Ezekiel. Dis here Kincaid fella’s been tellin’ us a pack of lies ’bout you and some of the other settlers that just arrived.” Miss Hattie pointed her parasol at the horizon. “Now who’s that comin’?”
In the distance, a horse was galloping toward the town.
“It’s Moses Wyman,” Ezekiel said as the rider came closer.
Jackson ignored the horseman and glowered at Samuel. “I can prove that these people owe me money.” He pulled a sheaf of paper from his horse’s saddlebags. “Come look at this—signed by Ezekiel Harban. There’s his mark.” Jackson tapped his finger on an
X
at the bottom of the page.
Harvey waved his employer forward as the horse approached. “Sure am glad to see you, Moses. I think we’ve got a news story here that’s way too complicated for me to write. Jackson Kincaid has come from Kentucky claiming some of the settlers were sharecroppers on his place and they left owing him money.”
Moses dismounted and handed the reins to Harvey before stepping forward. “Jeb Malone told me you were on your way to Nicodemus, Mr. Kincaid. I’m Moses Wyman, owner of the Hill City newspaper.”
“I believe I’ll need a lawman more than a newspaper reporter,” Jackson tersely stated before turning back to Ezekiel. “Do you deny this is your mark?”
Ezekiel took a good look. “I do.”
Moses stepped closer to Ezekiel. “He’s accused you of owing him money, Mr. Harban?”
Ezekiel nodded as his daughters joined the group. Truth grasped her father’s arm and looked up into his eyes. “What’s going on, Pappy?”
“Mr. Kincaid is accusing your father of owing him money,” Moses said.
“We’re wasting time,” Jackson snapped. “How many times must I explain? I have a paper here that says the Kincaid family loaned money to Ezekiel Harban. He has never repaid the loan, and I’ve come to take him back to Kentucky until he’s met his obligation. And I see others around here that sharecropped our land. I have papers on them, also. No use trying to hide!” Jackson stretched a finger toward some of the onlookers huddled in the distance.
Rushing forward, Jarena grasped the paper from Jackson’s hand. “Let me see what you’re offering as evidence against my father.”
Jackson quickly retrieved the paper and pointed to the bottom of the page. “Right there—that’s his mark.”
“You’re wrong. My father didn’t make that mark.” There was finality in her voice.
“You can’t prove that—it’s his
X
. I watched him make it,” Jackson insisted.
Jarena’s face was alight with pride as she met Jackson Kincaid’s scowl straight on. “No one in our family signs with an
X,
Mr. Kincaid. My father can write his name as well as you—perhaps even more legibly.”
“You’re lying! None of our slaves . . . uh, sharecroppers can read or write.”
Jarena laughed aloud. “How little you know, Mr. Kincaid. You’ve lost your workers, so you’ve come here with forged papers in an attempt to browbeat us into returning to your plantation. Well, it’s not going to happen. We’re landowners, just like you, Mr. Kincaid. We’ll work our own land. I suggest you do the same.”
Whoops of agreement filled the air, and Jackson looked pleadingly at Dr. Boyle.
“Don’t expect any assistance from me, Jackson.”
Moses seized the papers from Jackson and tossed them into a nearby fire. The bogus contracts flamed and quickly disintegrated into smoke and ash.
“He’s done it again,” Truth whispered to Jarena as they walked hand in hand back to the dugout. “How can I possibly avoid being alone with him?”
Jarena squeezed her sister’s hand. “Why don’t we talk to Pappy? He’ll set things right. Once he knows you’re afraid, he’s not going to send you back to Hill City.”
“Didn’t you see how happy he was when I handed him my pay last evening? He’s already planning to buy more seed, and he rushed to buy those chickens from Maribel Lemmons so you could have eggs to cook with. If I don’t go back, the Boyles will find someone else to do their chores. I’m sure there’s lots of folks among these new arrivals who would be happy for the work.”
“No, Truth. The Boyles will understand—especially once Pappy talks to Dr. Boyle. They wouldn’t want you to come to any harm. I doubt they have any idea what kind of man their son is working for.”
Neither of the girls heard Moses approach, and they started at his words. “I’d like to speak to your father if he’s around.”
Truth could feel the heat rise in her cheeks. She wondered how long Moses had been listening to their conversation before he spoke. “Pappy’s inside the dugout, but he’s anxious to get back out to the fields.”
“I’ll try to be brief.”
The girls waited outside while Moses went into the dugout. Truth leaned closer to Jarena and whispered, “Do you think he heard us talking and that’s why he’s gone in to talk to Pappy?”
“I don’t think so, but I still believe you should talk to Pappy. If you don’t, I’m going to.”
Truth plopped down on a grassy spot not far from the doorway and hugged her arms to her chest. “Grace told me about Mr. and Mrs. Francis leaving early this morning.”
Jarena nodded. “They never wanted to come here—it’s best they’re returning to Kentucky. My heart aches for them: first the death of their eldest son and now Charles. Mr. Francis was too frail to work their acreage, and George Lemmons was pleased to purchase it for his two older boys.”
Truth looked at her sister. “The Lemmons family surely came prepared, didn’t they? All that livestock and a wagon filled with more than all of us combined brought when we first arrived.”
“From what I understand, Mrs. Lemmons and Caroline Holt had been corresponding. As a result, Maribel had a better idea of what to bring than the rest of us—and also the money to purchase their goods.” Jarena plucked a prickle from the hem of her dress. “Mr. Lemmons sold his livestock, and Caroline said he turned a nice profit on everything he sold before coming out here. When they arrived in Ellis, they bought all those animals and supplies.”
“And he had money to purchase the Francis acreage in addition to buying all those supplies?” Truth asked. “I’m surprised they wanted to leave Georgetown.”
“Well, we managed to get a few chickens outta their comin’,” Grace commented as she joined them. “I’m sure gonna enjoy having eggs, and Mrs. Lemmons said she’d be sellin’ milk and butter, too.”
“All it takes to purchase those items is money. I’ll send my pay more often. Tell Mrs. Lemmons you want milk and butter every week.”
“Harvey Boyle said Moses is writin’ a newspaper article ’bout the posse comin’ through Nicodemus and shooting Charles,” Grace told her sisters. “He showed me the article. It says none of them claims about Thomas was true.”
“Trouble is, Thomas was long gone by the time Wyatt Pell cleared his name,” Jarena said. “Sure is hard to figure things out—Charles dead and now Thomas is off to Indian Territory. I do pray Thomas remains safe.”
Truth’s face wrinkled with confusion. “I’m confused, Jarena. Are you saying you truly care for Thomas?”
Grace bobbed her head up and down and giggled. “She won’t admit it to us, but she’s been writing him letters ever since he rode off with Lieutenant Boyle.”
“Have you heard back from him?” Truth asked eagerly.
“No—not a word. That’s why I fear something has happened.”
Before Truth could respond, Moses stepped out of the dugout. “The three of you are looking mighty sad.” His gaze finally settled on Truth. “Your father would like you to join us inside.”