by Caryl McAdoo
The guy’s eyes widened. “Hmm. Can’t say for sure. Is the lady your sister or something? Our passengers expect a certain amount of privacy. I mean, if anyone held ill will for –”
“Oh, no, no, no. I fought in the Civil War with the widow’s husband and accompanied her to Jefferson. I only want to be certain she’s safely aboard.”
He cleared his throat and ducked his head a little. “How bad you need to know?”
“Nevermind.” The man’s reaction told him she’d sailed on the Saint Louis. He picked up his bag and strolled out.
What then? Besides the sixteen bucks he needed for the steamship passage, he had to live for however long before the next steamer docked.
After three days in the Pacific on board the Saint Louis, Rebecca knew it in her bones. Someone watched her, followed her. Though she’d caught a glance here and again, she could never get a good bead on the gent.
Downright spooky how the shadow man seemed to always be there, then suddenly gone.
Her menfolk set great store in their gut knowings. And her tummy told her that she best catch and confront the charlatan—in a public place—before something bad happened.
But how?
She should have hired Marcus. Forget appearances!
No one would have faulted her for staying safe. Nevermind the man was fun to be around, and so good looking, and… Oh, there she went again. She simply must stop thinking about him. He wasn’t there and couldn’t help her.
That galoot trailing her sure was though, and taking care of the situation fell to her. And that was that.
Should she alarm the captain? No. He’d probably think her too skittish, a silly woman imagining all sorts of shenanigans. She had the Derringer. And the shadow man wouldn’t be expecting a challenge.
That would give her an advantage.
The fourth evening, her blue woolen shawl kept her warm against the evening breeze, and her flowered headscarf kept her hair in place on a leisurely stroll around the main deck.
Then before her pre-supper glass of wine in the lounge, she slipped the purser a silver dollar and whispered in his ear. He nodded then hurried toward the dining hall.
When the bell called the passengers to supper, she hung back until the matron she supped with the first night took her seat across from Rebecca’s assigned chair. Perfect.
Before the steward served the after-meal coffee and promised cherry tarts, she leaned in a bit. “Mis’ess Kessinger, I’m in a bit of a bad spot, and hope you might possibly help me.”
“Well, if I can, dear. I certainly would be inclined. What is it? And how may I be of assistance?”
For the next few minutes, Rebecca explained about the shadow man and her plan, leaving that open for critique and suggestions.
The old girl grinned. “What intrigue! Perhaps he’s a suitor who simply cannot muster the courage to approach. Your beauty must be powerfully intimidating. I like your plan though. It seems a good way to find out his intentions for certain.”
If only time was not of the essence, she’d tell the old dear all about Marcus not being the least bit daunted by her appearance, but the lady probably wouldn’t be interested. Soon as she and her newly inducted accomplice finished the coffee and tarts, pressing issues warranted action.
“How sweet of you to say. That would certainly be innocent enough, and here I’m thinking all sorts of horrid scenarios.”
“Are you afraid? That’s dreadful. Perhaps you should speak to the steward. Ask him to keep an eye on you.”
“Oh, no, ma’am.” She took a quick accounting of her motivations. “Not afraid. I’d say more curious…and perhaps even a little angry. But I do have a Derringer, and Daddy taught me how to use it as a child.”
With widened eyes, Mis’ess Kessinger scrunched her shoulders and pursed her lips. “Oh my! Have you ever had to? Fire the pistol, I mean.”
“No, I was about to once…years ago…when Charley plugged the last Comanche.”
“Indians? Oh my! Were you terrified? What were the circumstances, dear?”
“I was.” Rebecca didn’t see any way around telling her about Bold Eagle sending the raiding party to steal Rose and Charley.
And then, of course, she had to relay what she knew about Levi and Wallace tracking the old war chief across the Rio Grande into Mexico and bringing him back to justice.
“My, oh my! Someone needs to write all this down! What a story it would make!”
Of course, she told her all about the May Meriwether series of novels based on the family’s tales. Should have brought a set to share, but she surely whetted the woman’s appetite.
“Yes, ma’am, you’ll have to get them all! Now, are you ready for our little ruse?”
“Oh, absolutely! If you’re certain you think it’s safe.”
“I’ll be nearby the whole time. If the man has some nefarious plot, he will be caught before it’s hatched. Don’t you agree?”
The woman smiled. “Yes, I suppose that’s true.” She stood. “This is going to be so much fun.”
Rebecca hoped so, but like she’d said, she had the Derringer—both of them.
Once Mis’ess Kessinger, wearing Rebecca’s scarf and shawl, strolled out through the lobby, Rebecca counted to fifteen then slipped out the side door that led straight to the deck’s walkway.
The nook she’d spotted on her stroll before supper offered the perfect place to stay out of sight.
The old lady came by, nodded slightly, but made no other gesture of recognition.
Perfect.
Shortly, soft footfalls approached. Her heart boomed like the bass drum in a parade. She tightened her clutch around the pistol, but kept her trigger finger on the Derringer’s grip.
Wouldn’t want to shoot a suitor.
The man passed, and she jumped out and put cold steel against his back. “Who are you? And why are you following me?”
The man’s hands shot into the air. “Jasper, that you Miss Rebecca! Jasper Briggs! Don’t shoot me!”
“What?” She spun him around. “Clay’s little brother?”
He nodded but didn’t lower his hands. “Yes, ma’am. It’s me alright. I’d sure be obliged if you stopped pointing that thing at me.”
The young fellow stood almost a head taller than she. The Jasper she remembered should be more like shoulder-high, except she’d seen him at church since he came home from the war, but then all the Briggs favored.
She lowered the barrel. “Take off that hat, and let me look at you. What in the world are you doing here, Jasper? And why sneak around, following me? You best have a good excuse for causing me alarm.”
Mis’ess Kessinger hurried toward her. “Oh my, dear! Just look at you! You got him! Excellent, simply superb! Are you going to shoot him now?”
Ford watched as the stevedores and longshoremen loaded the SS Sacramento. The steamer sailed in three hours, according to the clerk. But eighteen dollars stood between him and boarding as a ticketed passenger. He’d asked, but with the ship’s crew for the trip full, they didn’t need extra wooders or deckhands…only paying customers.
He hated money—or rather the lack thereof—could keep him from catching up with Rebecca. Filthy lucre! Whoever coined that phrase had it right. He and his foolish pride. Should have sold the painting! The lady offered thirty dollars, but how could he?
To that very day, he still regretted selling that first one of Julia. No, he needed to find a book store. The Bible Rebecca had bought should fetch a few dollars, and the new suit perhaps another five or six. What else could he sell? Not the tea set. Would the upstretched canvases and pigment bring the difference?
He picked up his bag and the painting and headed back into town.
In the middle of the plaza across from the first store that advertised books, he sat on the fountain’s half-wall and pulled out the Bible. He stared at the book for a bit. She’d thought enough of him to buy it…after what? Just a few hours together? But what difference would that make if h
e couldn’t get himself to California?
He held the painting out. Definitely captured her likeness and….
The Bible slipped from his hand. He stuck his foot out to blunt the fall, and the book landed on its spine, flopped open. There in its gutter, a piece of paper folded around a twenty-dollar bill almost took his breath away. How had she known?
He unfolded a handwritten letter.
Marcus,
Count it a loan from Daddy. You can pay him back when you visit Clarksville. I pray your interview goes well. Be sure to write and let me know.
Your new friend,
Rebecca Rusk
With time aplenty, he stuck the letter back in his Bible, forgot all about selling her gift, jumped up, and hurried back to the dock. There, he procured a ticket for a voyage on the SS Sacramento. What a boon!
Nevermind he only had enough money left over for one meal every other day. He’d fast the whole way if need be.
After a late night with the young man, Rebecca didn’t see any way around the stump. No way to get out of telling her accomplice the whole story. Should never have included the older woman in her plans, but then, how could she have known it was Jasper? Ah well, the best laid schemes…sure proud she hadn’t involved the captain or his steward.
Certainly something to be thankful for.
Over an after-breakfast coffee, she began the sad story with Wallace coming home from the war. She told of his stubbornness then filled the lady in on a little Buckmeyer family history.
Of course, she wanted to know the whys of Rebecca’s grown sisters living in San Francisco, so she shared all the way as to her reason for visiting and her intentions to adopt a baby.
Prior to the revelation of taking in an orphan, the old dear held her peace, but at the mention of the possibility of bringing two children home, her eyes widened. She coughed then set her cup down too hard. “Are you sure, Rebecca? One child is hard enough, but two….”
“I know. But mother died a few days after my brother Houston was born. I was twenty-one. My sisters were four, eight, ten and eleven, so…technically, I’ve had five—certainly more than my share—to raise, but I want one of my own. I really do.”
“But you’re not that old, dear. Have you considered remarrying?”
Of course she had, but telling Mis’ess Kessinger about Marcus seemed neither proper nor called for. Why, no telling if she’d ever even see the man again.
“Wallace always blamed himself, but I was a bit long of tooth myself when we married. I don’t want to wait any longer. I want a baby to love. She—or he—will give my life purpose.”
The lady shook her head. “Oh, you’re still grieving. What are you, sweetie? Thirty-five?”
Stifling a giggle, she grinned. “No, but thank you. I’m forty-two.”
“Sakes alive! You certainly do not look it. Not at all.” She took a sip of coffee then smiled back. “So what’s the young man’s story? Jasper, isn’t it? Is that right?”
“Yes, ma’am. Jasper Briggs. His big brother married my second sister, Gwendolyn. They run the Mercy House Orphanage in San Francisco where I plan to choose my baby. Anyway, Jasper’s been sweet on my fourth sister, Bonnie Claire, forever.”
“But she went to California to help with all the babies. I see. So it’s truly a family affair, saving poor little unfortunate children. How admirable of you all. Your father must be so proud. So the Briggs are neighbors then?”
“Well, close to fifteen miles north and a little more east, but we all go to the same church in Clarksville. Anyway, Jasper signed up for my father’s regiment when Texas joined the Confederacy.” Rebecca looked off.
Stupid war. No matter how much she hated it, couldn’t change one day of the past. She looked back.
“His family farms and cuts timber. They just got their cotton in, and Jasper hit my daddy up for a loan to put with his part of the profits so he could fetch Bonnie back to Texas. If she’ll have him.”
The lady smiled. “Think she’ll say yes?”
“I don’t know. She hasn’t mentioned any suitors there, but she’s the prettiest sister of us all. I’d be surprised if there hasn’t been plenty of callers. Daddy wants her home, too, though. So maybe.”
“From what I could see, the young man is handsome enough. Think he’d be a good provider?”
She nodded. “Has to be. Old man Briggs loved ’em good and worked ’em hard. Never heard of any of the Briggs men shirking.”
“Did he say why all the lurking around, scaring you? I mean, why not walk up and say hello?”
“Oh, yes. My daddy made the loan on the condition of keeping an eye on me. Stupid men. I should have known. It isn’t like I can’t take care of myself.”
All the way to dinner, that statement shadowed Rebecca. The whole time she and her new matron friend hashed and rehashed the previous night and what awaited her in San Francisco.
More than a baby, she truly wanted someone to take care of her.
But not her daddy.
If only she could shake the memory of Marcus Ford.
Though she barely knew the man, hardly an hour passed without her thinking about him.
Had it really been Wallace’s fault that she never got pregnant?
Marcus had fathered one child already.
And Mother May had been older than Rebecca when she delivered Charlotte. Her new lady friend excused herself for a trip to the powder room, and Rebecca toyed with the idea of her and Marcus being parents together.
Having his baby.
The long-held desire to carry a child never lessened, though she denied it voice.
The dinner bell sounded, and she put away such nonsense. She’d already decided her life’s plans. Everything all set out. The dashing Major Ford played no part. Besides, the man hadn’t settled his eternal salvation.
If she knew anything, she knew she could never be joined to a man who didn’t love the Lord with his whole heart. By a living example, Mama’s unbroken vow to God had taught her that much.
The shock on Jasper’s face repaid in full the extra coin it cost her upgrading his meal ticket. The added bonus gave her an opportunity to quiz the young man…when she could pry him away from Mis’ess Kessinger.
It certainly proved an entertaining few days on the high sea.
By the time the Saint Louis dropped its anchor in the San Francisco Bay, Rebecca hadn’t completely settled on how she would advise Bonnie if she should ask. The young Mister Briggs seemed sure and certain of his heart, but what of her sister?
At least the boy was a believer.
After the last onboard meal, but before the barge arrived, she located Jasper standing on the dockside rail, staring at the city.
“If I could impose, I have better than two tons of merchandise that needs seeing to.”
The young man turned and smiled. “Of course, Miss Rebecca. For Mary Rachel’s store?”
“That’s right. The captain promised it would be loaded on the first barge.”
Jasper didn’t ask how that had been accomplished, but sure seemed that even though the Widow Rusk claimed no blood relation to General Buckmeyer, the lady got chipped right off the same block.
Both had a way of getting folks to do their bidding. “Once I get your goods on shore, then what? Should I hire a wagon? You got directions?”
“Yes, I do know where we’re going, but I’ll find someone to take us and the goods. Mis’ess Kessinger offered to give me a personal tour of China Town. I should be back before you’re offloaded.”
Jasper’s pulse quickened. From all reports, two unescorted ladies shouldn’t be wandering the seedier parts of San Francisco. And that section definitely had a less than desirable reputation.
“Is that wise, Miss Rebecca? Isn’t that where Caleb Wheeler got murdered? And I’ve heard –”
The woman he hoped was soon to be his sister-in-law held up her hands, stopping him cold. “It is, but Daddy taught me how to shoot a long time ago, and…” She grinned. �
��Well, I had the drop on you if you’ll remember.”
How could he forget? “Yes, ma’am. But if you’ll wait, I’d be pleased to make a third.”
“No need, but thank you for the concern. My tour guide says she knows where to go and where not to. I, too, have heard similar stories, but wanted to see the place for myself.” She grinned. “I also don’t want to wait around a minute longer once you get my goods offloaded.”
“Yes, ma’am. I see your point.”
She squeezed his forearm as though trying to reassure him. “We’ll be fine.” Then the lady glanced over his shoulder. “Good then. Now if you’ll excuse me, dear, it seems the skiff is about to come alongside.”
Just as promised, she waited with a wagon as the barge neared the dock. Watching the longshoremen hoist her crates and barrels off with the oversized block and tackle and double-beamed boom fascinated him.
The wharf’s pulse beat half again as fast as in New Orleans. Everyone hurried to get things done. In Louisiana, folks moved at a slower pace.
Still did their work steady, but more nice and easy like. He’d never seen so many short people in one place. Perhaps the little yellow men’s scurrying set the tone in the boom town.
Who knew?
But Jasper liked it, liked both harbor cities, though neither compared with Texas. With or without Bonnie, he’d be getting himself home. The thought of her not coming stabbed his heart like an Arkansas toothpick. But…no reason to linger if she said no.
Down Broadway then into the city, the activity surprised him. So many folks hurrying about, yet not a howdy to be had. Like everyone ignored everyone else.
He touched Miss Rebecca’s arm, and the lady turned and faced him. “Think Bonnie will be at the store?”
“Not sure. Last I heard, she’d made herself a regular, helping at the orphanage.”
“That’s what I heard, too, but a fella can hope. Have any idea how far away the farm is?”
“It’s close, but I’m not sure exactly.” Seemed to Rebecca that ‘pathetic’ described the boy best, wanting to see who he claimed was the love of his life, no doubt fearful of what he’d find.