by S. B. Moores
“What do you mean?”
“If you had looked more closely in the space where you dumped me in, you might have seen it.”
“Seen what?”
He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small leather bag. It jingled with coins.
“Justin, have you robbed a church?”
“It wasn’t a church when I was there. Besides, whoever left these was long gone. I’ve been waiting for the right moment to use them. They’re Spanish colonials, pure gold. New Orleans was a Spanish town, once, so I assume these will still pass for currency. If not, everyone loves gold.”
She put her hands on her hips. “Why didn’t we use these to pay our boat passage?”
Justin cocked his head, as if he’d given the matter some thought. “I admit it. I wanted to watch Abigail Whitfield work as a common laborer, if only for a little while.” He squeezed her arm. “I needed to make sure you’re sturdy enough to survive as a poor farmer’s wife.”
“After all I’ve been through?” She started to swing a punch at his chest, but he caught her arm, drew her face close to his, and gave her a quick kiss.
“Careful, dear. We don’t want the shop ladies to think I’m here to dress up a plow horse for the Easter parade.”
She pushed away from him with a huff.
“Shall we go shopping?” he asked.
“Of course.” She started pulling him into the store by the sleeve. “I can’t wait to see how much you think your life was worth.”
For Abigail, the journey upriver to Nashville was quiet and mercifully uneventful. In their free time she and Justin ignored the gambling and other entertainment in the main cabin. Instead, they sat next to each other on deck chairs and held hands. They were content to watch the scenery go by, or the moon and stars when their free time fell in the evening.
“I think it’s only fair to warn you,” she told Justin one evening. “I am more than happy to raise your children, but I still want to raise some horses.”
“I never doubted it. When I was in Kentucky, I considered buying a few tired old nags for you and Toby.”
“You wouldn’t have!” She tossed his hand away and bent forward to look at him in the evening light. “I knew you were jealous, but I didn’t know you could be vindictive.”
“Jealous enough to sabotage your business. I admit it. But then I figured I wasn’t finished trying to win your hand. And I was sure enough that I would succeed, eventually, that, when you were finally mine, I didn’t want to inherit any of your worthless stock as part of a dowry.”
She laughed and lay back on her deck chair. “That’s my Justin. Always thinking about himself.”
“About us, dear. Always about us.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes, and Abigail’s thoughts wandered back to her martyred father and the battles she and Justin survived. The memories were burned into her mind, never to leave, and she wasn’t sure she’d want them to.
“What do you think happened to Toby?” she asked.
“I don’t know. I hope he’s waiting to greet us in Ridgetop with a whiskey in each hand. I’d like to see the look on his face when he finds out about . . . us.”
She reached out and slapped his shoulder with the back of her hand. “You really were jealous.”
He turned toward her and took her hand again. “Abigail. When I look back on my life, I’m certain I fell in love with you before you even knew I existed.”
“That would have been a long time ago.” She said this so quietly, she might have only thought it.
“So now you know how long I’ve struggled to capture your attention, if not your heart, to overcome Henry’s objections, and to worry about every other young gentleman like Toby who buzzed around your front door like bees on a pea vine.”
“Oh, dear. I hope that didn’t wear you out.”
He laughed. “Not by a long shot.” Then he drew quiet. “But I fear that Toby may no longer be a problem.”
She sighed. “It would have taken a miracle for anyone to get through the Mexican lines, I suppose.”
“Maybe not a miracle, but . . .”
She squeezed his hand. “So many losses.”
From Nashville they hired a coach to take them the rest of the way to Ridgetop. In midafternoon, as they drew near the Whitfield farm, Abigail knew her mother might notice their approach, given her penchant for taking tea on the veranda. Sure enough, when she looked out the coach window, Abigail spied her mother waiting at the bottom of the front steps.
At first she didn’t recognize the man standing next to her. Then she knew. It was Archibald Browning, the man who claimed to be her father. Somehow he’d managed to come to the house. And he was holding Henrietta’s hand. Abigail assumed this meant her mother had received the letter she’d given to Susannah to mail, and that everyone knew her father, or Henry, was dead. What this meant for their future, she couldn’t guess. And how would she explain Archie to Justin? She wouldn’t need to, she knew, and Justin wouldn’t be troubled in any case. She was truly home.
“Mother!” She stepped out of the carriage and ran into her mother’s arms.
“Abby.” Her mother hugged her harder than she ever had. Browning stood at a respectful distance and introduced himself to Justin without saying anything else.
“I’m sorry about Father,” Abigail whispered.
“I am too.” Her mother let go of her. “He was a good man, but Henry was stubborn as a Missouri mule.” Her eyes glistened with tears.
Abigail glanced at Archie. “I see you’ve met Mr. Browning.”
Her mother put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, Abby. I have so much explaining to do.”
“It’s not explaining, Mother. You just have family stories. So do I, now, and your grandchildren will be fascinated by them all.” She placed both hands on her stomach to draw attention to her condition.
“Oh, my!” Her mother clapped her hands.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Ridgetop, Tennessee, May 24, 1836
The warm spring morning dawned without any threat of rain, and Abigail decided to walk to the Johnson farm, to learn if anyone had news of Toby. The distance was more than two miles, and she could have ridden a horse, but she wanted to see the land, the home she had missed so much. She walked through the fields, brushed the tops of the tall grass with her hands, and listened to the birds sing. At the creek, she carefully tiptoed over the flat gray rocks as she had so many times in her life, and crossed over onto the Johnson farm.
As she approached the house, she saw two men standing near the front porch with Thomas Johnson. One wore a top hat, the other an old tricorn. When she drew closer, she realized the two men were Bailey and Smith, the men who’d come to see Toby when he lay unconscious after the county horse race. Thomas faced them with his feet apart, his arms folded across his chest.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. He clenched his fists, and his cheeks flushed red. He glanced at Abigail and briefly raised one hand as if to warn her away.
“It’s very simple,” the man in the top hat said. “Master Tobias owes us a sum certain, and we have come to collect it.”
“I would know about my son’s debts, if he had any,” Thomas said. “And this is the first I’ve heard of any debt to you.”
“Master Tobias may not have confided in you, true, but that is not our concern,” Bailey said.
Abigail saw a long knife on Smith’s belt, and both men were of such questionable character that they likely carried pistols under their coats. They were up to no good, she was sure. She wished Justin were there.
“What kind of debt are you talking about?” Thomas demanded.
“Let’s just say it was a lending arrangement. We often provided Tobias with funds, and he always paid us back. Until now.”
“He paid you? How?”
“Sometimes in money, sometimes in livestock. I calculate he now owes us thirty head of cattle.”
“Thirty head? What kind
of usurious lending are you about, Bailey?”
“My client’s, that is to say, Tobias’s, business is his own concern. We merely fronted him the capital.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Perhaps you should call for Master Tobias and let him explain it to you.”
“He isn’t here.” Thomas glanced at Abigail, as if she might know where Toby was. “Have you got this supposed lending arrangement in writing?”
“No, but I was told the word of a Johnson is as good as any writing, if not gold.”
“You’re not going to get away with this, Bailey. I’ll give you nothing. That’s all I have to say. Now go away. I never want to see your face again.”
“I urge you to reconsider,” Bailey said, glancing conspicuously at Mr. Smith. “Where I come from, it’s considered very bad luck not to repay one’s debts.”
“Don’t you threaten me. Get off my land. Now, before I send for the sheriff.”
Bailey started to protest, then looked at Abigail and thought better of it.
“We can’t wait much longer,” Bailey said. “It’s a matter of considerable urgency for Mr. Smith and myself. But we are willing to give you, say, another brief period of time in which to reconsider. But not long.”
“Go!” Thomas bellowed.
Bailey and Smith barely reacted. They gave each other a knowing look, then turned and walked down the drive toward the county road. Thomas started to go into the house, but he stopped and pointed a finger at Abigail.
“You tell that boy of yours if he tries anything, I’ll say the same thing to him, too.”
“I beg your pardon?” What was he talking about?
“It’s my land,” Thomas growled. “And I intend to keep it.” With that he strode heavily across the porch, went inside, and slammed the front door hard enough to rattle its leaded glass.
Abigail stood for a moment and stared at the front of the house, thinking Thomas might calm down and come back outside. He didn’t, but she had learned what she’d come to find out. Toby wasn’t home. She might also have confirmed what had happened to her father’s missing cattle. She never believed Justin was a cattle thief, but she never really believed it of Toby, either. Now it seemed that Toby had been paying off his gambling debts by stealing cattle.
She lowered her head, turned around, and began walking slowly back toward home. How tragic, how ironic, life was. If Toby had simply confessed his gambling debts and sought help, rather than accuse Justin of stealing cattle, he might still be alive. Not to mention Henry. She wondered if Toby’s body was lying in a Texas field near San Antonio. She wondered if he had died alone.
When she came to the creek, she turned right instead of crossing over onto the Whitfield farm. She walked north, along a deer path, in the direction of the Sterling house. She wanted to tell Justin what had just happened. She and Justin had not yet settled on where they would live, and they decided to keep to their respective homes for the first few days since their return, to give their families time to adjust to their new status as a couple. Her mother had no trouble at all, and she was at that moment busily planning a wedding. Walter and Anne Sterling were not surprised either. They just wondered what had taken so long. She smiled. Some part of her, too, had always known that she and Justin were destined for each other. And there would be no Whitfield family shame this time. No one would escape to the west to avoid the scandal of a pregnancy out of wedlock. Her pregnancy was as natural and timely as the spring rain. A wedding would be great fun, to be sure, but it would only be a formality.
She found Justin and Walter in their kitchen, leaning over some drawings and papers that were spread out over a work table.
“Hello, young mother,” Walter said. He gave her a light hug. “How are we feeling today?” He took the liberty of patting her ever-growing stomach.
“He’s kicking. He wants to come out and see his grandfather.”
“That’s my boy.” Walter beamed.
Justin gave her a kiss on the cheek.
“You’ll never guess who I just saw at the Johnson farm,” she said.
“What? Who?” Justin and his father gave each other cautious looks.
“Do you remember those two men who came to see Toby after the race? After he was hurt?”
“Who could forget them? They were gamblers and cut-throats,” Justin said to Walter.
“They were at the Johnsons’ again today, demanding payment for one of Toby’s debts.”
“I’m sure that pleased Thomas.” Justin put his hands on his hips.
“As much as you think, and he practically threw them off the property.”
“Good for him,” Justin said.
“He practically threw me off, too, and because of you, I think.” She pointed at Justin.
“How’s that?”
“He said that if you tried anything, he’d throw you off his property, too. What’s that about?”
Justin looked at Walter. “I think I know.” They turned to the drawings and papers laid out on the table. “It’s all here. Your father—Archie, I mean—is a surveyor, and he’s found an interesting document. Do you remember that odd stone Toby fell over in the field once, when we were playing hide-andseek?”
“No. Oh, perhaps I do. It had writing on it, didn’t it?”
“Our family names. And they were put there for a purpose.”
He related the story of their three families, which he had learned from Browning, and the agreement they had reached to share their land.
“It’s all here in these papers. Signed, sealed, and hidden in a chest beneath that stone. Browning found it and dug it up.”
“What does it mean?” she asked.
“Basically,” Walter said, “it means the Whitfields, Johnsons, and Sterlings are all equal owners of all of their lands.”
“Unbelievable. Is it legal?”
“As sound as the Liberty Bell,” Walter said. “Metaphorically speaking, of course.”
“No wonder Thomas is afraid of you. He might be more afraid of Henry, if he were still alive.”
“Your mother owns the Whitfield property now,” Walter said. “And she’s part owner of our land and the Johnsons’, too, according to this agreement.”
Abigail stared down at a drawing of the properties. “It’s too odd to contemplate.”
Walter picked up his pipe. “It makes no difference to us Sterlings, now that you and Justin are to be married. Our lands will be joined and gladly so. It shouldn’t matter to you, either, unless your mother has more children.” He winked at her.
“Not much chance of that.” Abigail laughed. “Although there is a new man in her life, as you know.”
“A good man, too, from what I see.” Walter struck a match and puffed on his pipe until it glowed.
Justin looked at Abigail, then at his father. He remembered a conversation he’d had with Abby once as they sat on a bench outside a store in Ridgetop.
“Father, why don’t we set aside the pipe for a moment.” He placed a hand on Abby’s stomach and winked at her. “My child is still too young for tobacco.”
“Of course,” Walter said, “I accept that.” He set the pipe in an ashtray.
“Thanks, but I don’t think Thomas is going to accept any of this.” Justin slapped the papers with the back of his hand. “It’s odd enough. I suppose I wouldn’t either, if I were he.”
“He’s got more immediate trouble with Mr. Bailey,” Abigail said. “I don’t like that man. I’m afraid he might try something.”
The following evening, Abigail called at the Johnson farm again, walking there under the light of a full moon. Thomas was stiffly formal, but he had calmed down and let her in. Thomas’s wife, Janice, made them tea, and they sat uncomfortably around a table in the parlor. Abigail told them of her travels. She didn’t mention their reasons for going west, or whether Tobias had lied about Justin stealing cattle. As far as she was concerned, that was ancient history, and their families had to get along, or not, go
ing forward from that day. She didn’t mention the documents Archie Browning had found or property ownership, either. That problem would work itself out in its own sweet time. She knew Thomas and Janice were more interested in the fate of their son.
“We’re so sorry about Henry,” Janice said. Thomas nodded.
“Thank you.”
Thomas said, “That battle at the mission. What did you call it, the Alamo? It’s causing quite a fuss here in the States.”
“They say the men who died there are heroes.” Janice looked at her husband.
Abigail nodded, remembering her father. She wondered what he’d think of being called a hero of Texas, a land he’d never meant to visit. “I’m sorry I don’t know what happened to Toby,” she said. “We think Colonel Travis sent him for reinforcements just before the Mexicans’ final attack.” She knew that was unlikely, since Toby wouldn’t have known the territory. But it could have been true, and there was no reason they had to assume Toby deserted at the last minute.
Thomas nodded again, grim-faced but accepting the possibility that Toby had done the right thing.
“Of course it was a dangerous task,” she said. “Impossible, really, surrounded as we were.” She looked away. “Toby was very brave even to have tried it.”
“We appreciate your telling us all this, Abigail,” Janice said. “Toby was very fond of you.” She wiped away a tear that threatened to dampen her cheek. “He had plans, you know. For the two of you.”
Abigail didn’t get the chance to respond. A thunderous crash sounded, along with the splintering of wood.
“My goodness!” Janice dropped her tea cup.
Thomas jumped to his feet. “That was the front door!”
He stepped around the table but, before he could go any farther, Mr. Smith rushed into the room. He ran straight toward Thomas with a long knife raised over his head. Abigail tried to rise from her chair and Janice screamed.
“What? No!” Thomas had nowhere to run. He raised his hands to ward off the blow.
Smith’s eyes grew wide and he lurched forward, off balance. He fell forward without his legs under him. His hands came down, but they didn’t stop him from slamming into the floor facedown. Justin had tackled Smith and still had both arms around the man’s ankles.