The Major's Daughter

by Regina Jennings

  He worked furiously, trying to ignore the woman still sitting, watching him. When you were on trial, you didn’t tell the prosecuting attorney all your secrets. You didn’t notify them of your weaknesses. Why would he tell Caroline? With the land dispute between them, she was his opponent.

  Wasn’t she?

  He drove the shovel into the ground. “Every few years, we got moved to another home,” he said. “Sometimes it was because of our ages, sometimes it was just that they had too many kids in one institution and empty beds at another. It always meant sudden separation from friends—sometimes without a chance to say good-bye.” He churned through the web of roots and grasses, and the red soil appeared, clean and heavy with promise. “We had a spinning waterwheel of acquaintances. Friends, chums, but you never knew when you’d be ripped away and sent somewhere new. It was better to keep to yourself and mind your own business.”

  “From what I know of you,” Caroline said, “minding your own business goes against your nature.”

  Frisco smiled as he started on a new row. Listening to someone discuss his character outside of a courtroom was a new experience. He supposed children often heard their parents evaluate them, whether for ill or good, but he’d gone through childhood more or less unremarkable and unremarked upon.

  “I did it imperfectly and learned from my mistakes. Until I could control the situation, I didn’t want to risk again. That’s why I ran away. And that’s when everything changed.” He should be burying this story instead of uncovering it by the shovelful. “I thought I’d find the same support once I was on my own. I thought the kind people who brought us clothes and fed us would want to help even more.” He dug deeper. “That wasn’t the case.”

  “They were more interested in helping the institution than an actual child?”

  He shrugged. “It’s easier that way. They stay clean and separated visiting an orphanage. Helping a kid on the street, well, that can be more complicated. Thankfully, a man came along—David Payne. He was gathering crowds to go into the Unassigned Lands and start settlements. I was used to getting chased away. Nothing new there. At least with Payne, I wasn’t alone. And it became a part of a larger calling. It was more than a family. I was part of a movement.”

  “A leader,” she said. “Respected and admired by many.”

  “But none who knew my beginning.”

  And now that she knew, did it change anything?

  Caroline skimmed her hands over the grass, letting it tickle her aching palms, but she didn’t take her eyes off Frisco. This talk was too important. From the very beginning of their acquaintance, his confidence had drawn her attention, but there had always been something more that kept her spellbound. Beneath the bravado, aside from the indomitable spirit that drew the trust of crowds, was a yearning for acceptance that twisted an unguarded place in Caroline’s heart.

  Although she wouldn’t have been able to guess for herself, Frisco’s words rang true to what she’d suspected. He’d always been alone in the world. He didn’t expect acceptance, but he coveted it greatly. There was much to admire in his determination, but his story made her sad more than anything.

  “This whole experiment with the land run and the settlers, all of this is because of you and the other boomers,” she said. “Had you not forced the government’s hand, no one would be living out here at all. Most people know your name and understand the part you played. Even if the town of Redhawk doesn’t incorporate, you were invaluable to the process of forming hundreds of other towns.”

  Why was she talking about his accomplishments, when all she could think about was the abandoned boy?

  He turned over another shovelful of dirt with a strained flourish. “Don’t pay me any mind. I’m just trying to get under your skin, stir up sympathy so I can get this land back.”

  “I don’t believe that for a second.” Caroline jumped to her feet and stepped in his way. “Have you figured it out yet?”

  “What?”

  “That the orphanage is behind you. You survived. No institution is going to rip you away from the people you care about. You’re an adult. You make decisions for yourself. You have a chance to make relationships and keep those relationships.”

  “That’s what I was trying to do.” He kept his face down, as if the dirt warranted analyzing. “I was going to make a town—a permanent town. And no one could come in and change the rules, because I was going to be the one in charge. Now, well, it might work out despite you”—his lips twitched as if to soften his words—“but I’ll never have the security at Plainview that I would’ve had in Redhawk.”

  Her sense of truth—the black-and-white thinking she’d inherited from her father—told her that Frisco was wrong. His wrong thinking was going to keep him fearful and untrusting until he corrected it. But she sensed that she’d been guilty of some of the same wrong thinking. Wasn’t she convinced that holding on to this land was the only way to find the community she sought? What if they were both mistaken?

  “Look how far you’ve come already,” she said. “A lawyer! Not everyone is determined enough to educate themselves to such a level. You’ve met opposition in life before. You’ll succeed here too.”

  His dark eyes caught hers. Her heart sped up as he took her measure. “By succeed, do you mean that I’ll recover what was taken from me?”

  Caroline could feel her grip on the land loosening. Why couldn’t she let him have it? Because she didn’t know what she’d hold on to if it was gone. She cared about him, cared about his hardship, but she couldn’t resign herself to a cloistered existence. Especially when every encounter with Frisco only made her more aware of what the world offered.

  “If you’re finished with the shovel”—she took it out of his grasp—“I’ll get back to work. I need to get these starts planted before the rain.”

  And she needed to keep her head down lest he see the tears that threatened.

  Chapter eighteen

  Yesterday, they had cut the garden in, and Caroline had promised Frisco that the lavender she’d planted would bring a good return, in addition to the aesthetics. She’d also promised that he didn’t need to worry about losing people. That good relationships were possible, and that many people would think he was a man worthy of friendship and trust. He’d just kept digging, afraid to believe the words she was saying. Afraid to question whether her affirmation was crafted to dissuade him from his purpose.

  He’d attempted his own mode of persuasion—or at least that was what he’d claim, because it was too embarrassing to admit he’d told Caroline his story without an ulterior motive. But in the end, nothing he’d said had made a difference, while her words had struck him through the core.

  Patrick’s short shout signaled Frisco to pull on the rope and haul up another barrel of dirt. A woman like Caroline didn’t understand the world. True, she’d faced Indian uprisings and killer outlaws on the plains, but it was always with her father’s protection. She didn’t know what it was to be alone. She’d never had to fear that someone would take offense at her and ruin her life. No one had that power over her. She couldn’t know what it was to be him.

  Frisco dumped the dirt off to the side, then lowered the barrel back down to Patrick. He should be hitting water soon. Millie would appreciate not having to haul water from the river for her laundry business, and Frisco would enjoy not having to pay for every drink he took.

  Paying for water. Who ever heard of such nonsense?

  He had to admit, Caroline had lasted longer than he’d expected. Definitely longer than he’d hoped. And the more time he spent in town, the more he could see himself staying there. But where did that leave Patrick and Millie? They knew his plans, and while they were putting some money away with their industry, there wouldn’t be enough for them to buy land if he failed to get his homestead back.

  But how fun would it be to tell Caroline that she could have the land? That he would no longer oppose her? Would she be relieved? Would she be grateful? Would she tell hi
m again how he was a man that she was proud to know? If it weren’t for the investors counting on him . . .

  “Frisco, do you have a minute?” Deputy McFarland strode up to him with his head down and his hands in his pockets. He looked down the hole at the top of Patrick’s head as he passed. “Is this the place for a private conversation?”

  “It’s as good as anywhere,” Frisco answered. Patrick wasn’t one to eavesdrop or to care if he heard something eavesdrop-worthy.

  “It has come to my attention that a man is stirring up trouble for the city. Do you know anything about this?”

  “Do you mean the man calling himself a deputy and trying to collect fees from people when there are no such laws?”

  McFarland scrunched his face as if hit by an unpleasant odor. “Ah, yes. The peddler told me they knew you. Well, the city council has proposed new fees, but they haven’t been approved. The deputy was an overzealous greenhorn. I’ll delay him until the paperwork is official, but that’s not the issue I’m referencing. I’m asking about a man by the name of Lacroix.”

  Frisco’s stomach did a little flop. “Do you have a more specific question?”

  McFarland’s jaw twitched, and he shot another glance at the hole in the ground. “Have you helped him put together a case against me?”

  “No, not at all.” That question, at least, was easy to answer. “No, he’s interested in weeding out the sooners who were here early. That doesn’t include you, does it?”

  “You don’t know exactly who he’s complaining about, do you?” McFarland shifted so that his back was to the hole. “Does he have any concrete evidence?”

  “I know you want to help,” Frisco said, “but it’d be for the land office board to decide. When there’s a hearing, you could certainly share testimony as a deputy.”

  McFarland brushed a gnat away from his eyes. “I’m no longer a deputy. I resigned and have gone back to my true calling, which is property and real estate. For a man who likes to see construction and development, this is a dream.”

  “We’ve got a lot in common, then,” Frisco said. “It’ll be something to walk the streets and be able to recall when each building went up.”

  “Frisco Smith? Is that you?” A solemn-looking man approached in thin linen britches and a striped coat. Where had Frisco met him? Oh yeah, at Purcell before the race. “I’ve been looking for you.”

  Uh-oh. Frisco could guess what this was about.

  He turned to McFarland. “Don’t concern yourself about the claim dispute, friend. The town will be better when the lawbreakers have been removed and the citizens who ran the race fairly get a shot. Thank you for bringing it to my attention, though.” He turned away, hoping that McFarland would take the hint, but the former deputy remained, even as the newcomer approached.

  “You may not remember me,” he said.

  “Yes, you’re the schoolteacher from . . . Amarillo?”

  “Austin. Mr. Deavers.”

  Frisco offered his hand and relaxed a smidgen when Mr. Deavers decided to shake it.

  “The reason I’m here—”

  “Is that I owe you two dollars, or was it three?” Frisco was interrupting as much as Sophie Smith did, but he’d rather make this easy on the schoolteacher. It wasn’t Mr. Deavers’s fault that Frisco had no property for him. And he wanted this settled as quickly as possible, especially seeing how McFarland hadn’t left. Frisco reached into his pocket and pulled out a small leather sack. “There you go,” he said as he counted out the coins. “I do apologize. Things didn’t work out exactly as I planned. I haven’t given up, but I don’t expect you to wait any longer.”

  With his hand still outstretched and the money glinting in the sun, Mr. Deavers flipped a coin over with his thumb. “That’s it, then? No more explanation? No remorse for failing to get us land?” He pointed at the framework behind Frisco. “Looks like you did well for yourself.”

  “What’s he talking about?” McFarland asked. “Have you defrauded someone?”

  The accusation cut to his bone marrow. Frisco felt himself leaning away from McFarland. “No. I just gave him his money back.”

  “But what about the rest of them?” Mr. Deavers asked. “There’s a group gathered at Purcell Station. They’re losing heart that they haven’t heard from you. What do you want me to tell them? At the very least, let me take their money back to them.”

  McFarland crossed his arms over his chest. “Why do you have their money, Smith? What’s this about?”

  Frisco looked from one man to the other. “For that city I was going to build, I took payments for the lots. Unfortunately, I didn’t get a homestead claim. I don’t have any land to divide up with them. Not yet.”

  “Can you give them their money back?” McFarland asked.

  “Yes, I have it. It’s in the bank, right here in town.” Then to Deavers, Frisco said, “The deal was that I had until the twenty-second of May. If some don’t want to wait that long, they can come find me. Otherwise, tell them not to lose heart.”

  “There’s fourteen squatting there, waiting to hear from you. Why don’t you send the money with me?”

  Fourteen men. Thirty dollars, perhaps, but probably more if they’d reserved better lots. It had been two weeks, and Frisco still didn’t have his land. Two more weeks before his failure was irreversible.

  For once his jaunty attitude was failing him. “I’m not going to give out money like that,” he said. “I need to know who is getting theirs and see them get it with my own eyes. You’ve got your two dollars. Send the rest of them my way.”

  The hard glint to McFarland’s eyes hadn’t disappeared yet, but he nodded. “That’s reasonable, Mr. Deavers. You can’t ask him for more than is owed you.”

  Deavers took another look around. “Do you need a schoolteacher here? I’d hoped to be able to own property of my own instead of living with the families in the district, but since I left Austin, I’m still searching for a job.”

  “Afraid not,” McFarland said. “We haven’t organized a school yet, and I don’t know where you’d stay if we did. Best if you kept on moving.”

  With a drop of his shoulders, Deavers walked away.

  “I’m sorry,” Frisco called after him. “I’m as disappointed as anyone.” But his words surely were no comfort to a man who’d gambled and lost. He should know.

  Frisco had almost forgotten McFarland waiting at his side.

  “You never know when your fortunes are going to change,” McFarland said. “Given a chance, I think that man would’ve tried to ruin your reputation over a stroke of bad luck.”

  “He’s disappointed, and rightly so, but I don’t think he aimed to ruin me.” Frisco twisted his head around to release the tension in his neck. “I made it right with him. There’s nothing more I can do.”

  “But can you do that for everyone you wronged?” McFarland asked. “Just remember, if you find yourself in a quandary, it’s good to have friends who’ll stick by you.”

  But the effect of his words was anything but friendly.

  Chapter nineteen

  If she had room in her little cave, she would’ve brought out more dresses. If she had more dresses, she wouldn’t be wearing the same two work dresses over and over. Today was the day she washed one.

  Caroline folded the soap into the skirt and rubbed it against itself. Next time she was in town, she should buy a washboard. She’d never paid much attention to the washwomen at the fort, but now she wanted to hug one in thanks for all her hard work. She waded deeper into the river, her bare feet squishing in the mud, and leaned forward to rinse the skirt out in the clean water. Her clothes might not come out pristine, but getting in the water, whether to wash clothes or dishes, was the best chore she had.

  Bucky stood on the bank and bleated a warning at her.

  “I’m not going to drown, silly thing,” she hollered back, glad for the company the goat provided. Her father had long since taken Hardtack back to the fort, declaring that the horse was liabl
e to get stolen and brought unneeded attention to the fact that someone was living beneath the riverbank. He was probably right, but without the horse, her travels were limited to visiting town or visiting Amber. And Amber didn’t want to visit.

  Caroline had never been so lonely in her life. Not that she wasn’t busy. From morning to night she did backbreaking work, and the splendid curves and walkways of her garden were taking shape, but it did little to dull her regrets. She wanted to fix this mess for Frisco.

  She’d dunked the cotton material for another rinse when a man’s voice rode toward her on the breeze. Caroline froze, waiting for the dripping water to silence so she could hear better. Was that Frisco? She couldn’t tell.

  She had eased back to the bank and was draping her skirt over a laundry line when Frisco and three men came walking upriver toward her.

  He stopped in his tracks, his eyes quickly taking in everything from her tumbling hair to her bare feet and tied-up skirts. He spun to address the men, then shook hands with them and sent them on their way, but he didn’t leave. Instead he headed down the riverbank toward her.

  Whatever weighty issue he’d been discussing with them still lingered about him. Maybe the thought of seeing her was what sped his steps over the tree roots, or maybe he was only eager to put an unpleasant meeting behind him.

  He was wearing his town clothes—a red satin vest with black jet buttons and a silk cravat. But despite being caught disheveled, barefoot, and washing laundry, Caroline didn’t for a moment feel at a disadvantage. She was glad he’d come.

  The sight of her took his breath away. She stood, bare feet planted wide and rooted to the red soil like the trees around her. Her tousled red hair matched the crimson mud that caked her toes and faded as it traveled up her white legs. A pirate on the bridge of his ship couldn’t look more powerful than she did.