Always and Forever

by Beverly Jenkins

  As she and the brides she’d grown closest to—Trudy, Fanny, Daisy, Zora, and Belle—walked back to the line of buggies, buckboards, and wagons where the husbands sat waiting, Fanny said, “Loreli told us about the marriage.”

  Grace looked around at their concerned faces. “Remind me to strangle her the next time I see her.”

  Smiles spread through the group.

  Zora said, “Since we all know the problems between you and Jackson will be ironed out, we got you two something.”

  Zora waved her hand and Grace watched as Zora’s husband, Barton, reached into the back of his wagon and lifted out what looked to be a cradle. As he neared, Grace’s tears began anew. It was a cradle; a beautifully carved, dark wood rendering that would shelter her child lovingly while it slept. Barton laid it at her feet and a very moved Grace ran her hand over it gently. “Thank you,” she whispered in a tear-choked voice.

  They were all teary-eyed again too. “You’re welcome.”

  Zora said, “Promise you’ll write us and let us know when the baby’s born.”

  Grace nodded. “As long as Belle does the same.”

  Belle walked up and gave Grace a hug that filled Grace’s heart.

  “Thank you,” the young woman whispered with fierce emotion. “Thank you so very much.”

  Her friends left her then to go back to their husbands, and moments later drove away. With her cradle at her feet, Grace waved until they disappeared from sight.

  Price and Tess returned a bit past noon and immediately began on their own preparations to leave. Since the founding of the colony, Price had been traveling back and forth between it and the property he owned here, but now that he and the beautiful Tess were married, he planned on leasing the farm to the Trundles and making the land he owned in the colony his permanent residence.

  Mr. Trundle, who was as thin as his wife was large, had a grin on his face the size of Kansas when Price asked him into the kitchen to tell him the news. Price hadn’t given them any inkling as to his plans for the land, and they were happy indeed.

  The aunts spent the afternoon helping Price and Tess pack up the household items Price wanted to ship to the colony and getting to know Tess better. Grace pitched in too, because it gave her something to do besides think about her war with her husband.

  He returned late that afternoon. As he entered the parlor he greeted the women emotionlessly, then asked Grace if he could speak to her.

  Outside on the porch, Grace looked up at the beautiful day and wished her mood were as bright. “What did you wish to speak with me about?”

  “I’m leaving in the morning.”

  Sadness momentarily touched her heart. “What time?”

  “Eight on the Santa Fe.”

  “I see.”

  “I’ll come back to Chicago as soon as I get things cleared up.”

  She was so still and unapproachable that to Jackson she looked as if she were carved from ice. Somewhere beneath that icy exterior lived the woman he’d made love to in a moonlit glade; a woman who’d burst into his life and made him alive again. He wanted her back, but she seemed so very far away. “Grace, the baby needs a name.”

  “I’ve already accepted that. Please, can we not talk about this again?” The plea in her voice was mirrored in her eyes.

  He nodded tersely.

  Silence reigned for a moment, and Grace wondered where the two of them would be in a year’s time. “You weren’t here when the brides came by this morning. They wanted me to tell you good-bye. They gave us a beautiful cradle.”

  “I’d like to see it before I leave tomorrow.”

  “Okay.”

  Their gazes caught and held, and both saw the love of their life hiding behind emotionless eyes.

  Grace asked him quietly, “Was there anything else?”

  “No.”

  “Then I’ll go back and help Tess and the aunts.”

  As she reentered the house, Grace had the information she needed. When he boarded the Santa Fe in the morning, so would she.

  That evening, as Grace packed her essentials in a large carpet bag, the aunts looked on skeptically from their seats on her bed. She’d let them in on their plan, and they weren’t sure whether they thought it was a good one.

  “Are you sure this is the right thing to do?” Dahlia asked.

  “Nope, but I’m doing it anyway.”

  Tulip shook her head. “Sometimes, I think you have too much Prescott blood in you, Grace dear.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  Grace planned on packing light; she knew Jackson wouldn’t want to be burdened down by frivolous weight. “I promise to wire you whenever I can, wherever I can.”

  “You’d better,” Dahlia countered.

  “He’s going to throw a fit,” Tulip pointed out.

  “I know, but he’ll just have to.”

  “Do you love him that much?” Tulip asked.

  Grace looked into the wise eyes and saw a softness there. “Yes, I do.”

  Dahlia sighed, “Then I guess we have to go along.”

  Once again, grateful to have them in her life, Grace smiled.

  The next morning, Jackson awakened before dawn. Mrs. Trundle had promised to have his breakfast ready, and she did not disappoint. Everyone else was still asleep, he assumed, because he heard nor saw anyone else in the quiet house as he ate, then went out to saddle his horse. Leaving Grace behind tore at his heart and would delay the two of them working through their problems, but it couldn’t be helped. He had to do this and he had to do it alone.

  He went upstairs and knocked lightly upon her door. Hearing her quiet reply, he soundlessly entered. It didn’t surprise him to find her already awake. She was dressed in a robe and was seated in a chair by the window. The sun was just coming up.

  “Well, I’m heading out.”

  She stood. “Take care of yourself.”

  He nodded. “I will. You too.”

  An awkward silence developed.

  “Wire me in Chicago when you can.”

  Jackson wanted to cross the room and take her in his arms, but didn’t. He held his position by the door while his intense longing for her set off a tremendous ache in his heart. “Can I see the cradle?”

  She gestured to where it sat near the wall. He silently admired the craftsmanship and the highly polished dark veneer. Knowing it would eventually hold their child tightened his heart even more. “I need to go. Say good-bye to everyone for me.”

  Grace fought down the urge to run to him and be held against his strong chest. “I will, and you keep yourself safe. I’ll see you soon.”

  He nodded and was gone.

  Grace went to the window and watched him ride away. When it seemed certain he wouldn’t return for anything he might have mistakenly left behind, she threw off her robe. Fully dressed beneath it, she hastened to the room the aunts were sharing and knocked. They called for her to enter and Grace went in and gave them both hugs. “I’ll wire as soon as I can.”

  The tears in their eyes matched the ones standing in Grace’s own. “Godspeed,” they told her.

  “I love you both.” And she was gone.

  Tess was already out front with the team hitched to the wagon and the reins in her hand. Grace climbed aboard. Tess slapped down the reins and they were off.

  At the station, Grace, fashionably dressed in a navy traveling costume and wearing a hat with a veil, kept her shrouded eyes carefully peeled for Jackson as she made her way to the ticket window. She didn’t want him to see her before she boarded the train. The depot was crowded with folks of all races waiting to be conveyed to their destinations. Grace hoped they’d mask her presence for as long as was necessary.

  She purchased her ticket without incident. Now all she had to do was stay out of sight for the next hour until the train arrived.

  It arrived in a hail of smoke, cinders and noise. As the whistle sounded, Grace stepped back to avoid breathing in the foul steam and to get out of the
way of flying sparks and cinders which often burned holes in clothing. Burying herself in the mass of passengers that surged to the tracks, Grace slipped into line. A surreptitious glance toward the front showed Jackson in line about ten people ahead of her. Grace kept her head down so as not to draw attention to herself.

  The conductor took her ticket, nodded a greeting, then said, “Just so you’ll know, miss, we’ll be riding Jim Crow once we cross the Texas line.”

  Angry at the news, but keeping her face emotionless, she thanked the man, then climbed aboard. Grace found her a seat near the back of the car. She could see Jackson seated two rows ahead. It took only a few more minutes for the rest of the travelers to board. As was the custom, none of the other passengers chose to sit next to a person of color, and so Grace had the seat to herself.

  The whistle blasted one last time and she could feel the iron horse shudder to life. Folks on the ground were waving enthusiastically as the train moved slowly up the tracks but were soon left behind as it picked up steam and chugged out of the station headed west.

  Grace decided she’d wait awhile before confronting Jackson, and to pass the time dug out of her carpet bag a copy of the book Tulip had given her to read on the train. It was titled Clotel; or The President’s Daughter: A Narrative of Slave Life in the United States, published in 1853 by noted abolitionist and writer William Wells Brown, himself born in Lexington, Kentucky of a slave mother and a slave holder. Clotel held the distinction of being the first novel penned and published by a person of African-American descent, but unlike Harriet Wilson’s 1859 novel Our Nig, which was the first African-American novel printed in the United States, Clotel was published in Britain. Grace had heard of the book but had never read it. According to Tulip, the story revolved around a mulatto woman named Currer and her two daughters, Clotel and Althesa. As a young woman, Currer served as a slave in the household of Thomas Jefferson, also the father of her daughters. When Jefferson goes off to Washington to accept his first government appointment, she and the girls are sold to another master.

  Grace settled into the story and the tale was as melodramatic and tragic as Tulip had promised. When the story begins, Currer is forty years of age. The new master has died, and Currer and her daughters are put on the auction block in Richmond to be sold. A White Virginian named Horatio Green purchases Clotel as his concubine, but Currer and Althesa become the property of a slave trader who takes them south. He sells Currer to Reverend John Peck in Natchez, Mississippi, and the youngest daughter, Althesa, is taken on to New Orleans and auctioned to James Crawford as a house slave.

  Grace read on, following the heartrending twists and turns in the lives of the three women, but she glanced up every now and again to make certain Jackson was still unaware of her presence.

  The train had journeyed about an hour when Grace closed her book and decided to confront her husband. She expected him to be angry, but she hoped he wouldn’t cause so great a scene that they’d both get tossed from the train. Still veiled, she left her seat and haltingly made her way to where he was seated. “Excuse me, sir. Is this seat taken?”

  He looked up. “No.” Then recognition widened his eyes.

  Grace used the speechless moment to slide into the seat beside him. “Are you traveling far?”

  Jackson couldn’t believe his eyes. Looking around to see how much attention they were drawing, he whispered fiercely, “What in the hell are you doing here?”

  She smiled. “The baby and I decided we didn’t want to be left behind.”

  “Dammit, Grace.” Jackson wanted to throttle her, but knew he’d never touch her in anger or commit violence against her person. Instead, he rested his head on the back of the seat and closed his eyes for a moment. Truth be told, beneath his anger, Jackson was elated. Leaving her behind had been one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do. No man in his right mind would take his pregnant wife into such a potentially volatile situation, but she was here. She’d obviously weighed the consequences and either hadn’t believed him or hadn’t cared. Grace Prescott Atwood Blake was fearless and untamed, and he should’ve known telling her no wouldn’t be enough to deter her, especially once she made up her mind. Dammit! “I ought to take you across my knee.”

  Grace had no idea how much anger he might be hiding beneath his calm words, but his flashing eyes pretty much told all she needed to know. “The vows said ’til death do us part.”

  “You are so damned hard-headed.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  Jackson loved her as much as he loved breathing, but she needed a keeper. “I’ve half a mind to put you off at the next stop.”

  “But you won’t.”

  And he didn’t.

  The journey continued through Kansas, then cut through a portion of Colorado before heading south into Texas. True to his word, the conductor sent the few Black, Mexican, and Indian passengers to an empty car at the back of the train once they crossed the Texas line. The car’s walls were made of evenly spaced horizontal slats, ostensibly to let in fresh air, but it still smelled of animals—cattle, to be precise—and everyone had to watch where they sat or walked because of the dung-filled hay littering the wooden floor.

  Jackson hadn’t had too much to say to Grace since she’d surprised him with her presence. His secret elation aside, he was still angry that she’d defied him and angrier still that she might come to harm. He planned on sending her back to her aunts just as soon as they reached Marshall, Texas, and if he had to put her on the train kicking and screaming, so be it.

  Grace looked over at him sitting atop the fetid straw in a corner of the car and the tightness of his jaw told all. He wasn’t happy about her being here, but now that she was, he seemed intent upon ignoring her. He hadn’t said a word since they’d entered the car a few hours ago, and she was both angry and humiliated. The other passengers riding in the car with them, particularly a man and his two young daughters, and a salesman for a brush company, were trying to make the best of the bad situation by talking to each other, but Jackson hadn’t said a word, so they gave up on trying to include him, and Grace did the same.

  The man with the two daughters was on his way home to Houston after burying his mother, who’d died recently in Kansas City. His daughters, aged eight and twelve, were bright and charming. The brush salesman, possessing the gift of gab inherent in most salesmen, kept the girls entertained with simple sleight-of-hand tricks and by showing them his cases, which held not only combs and brushes, but hair ribbons, a variety of hair tonics, and toilet water for his lady customers. His name was Andrew Logan. He was a short, round-faced, brown-skinned man, and according to his nonstop talking, had spent a few years studying at Oberlin until he ran out of money and had to find a job.

  Grace found him engaging.

  “I too attended Oberlin,” she told him, and they spent the next hour talking about the school and its traditions.

  The brooding Jackson wished the talkative Logan elsewhere. It was easy to see the man was taken by Grace and was going out of his way to impress her with his education and his case of goods. Every now and again Grace would glance over to where Jackson sat silent with his back against the car, as if waiting for him to enter the conversation, but Jackson had nothing to say.

  When night came and everyone had no choice but to find a spot in the hay so they could sleep, Logan offered her his coat to sit upon.

  “A lady like you shouldn’t have to spoil her clothes.”

  Grace smiled, pleased to be in the company of such a gentleman, especially since the man she was traveling with seemed to have no manners at all, but she couldn’t take his coat; she was a married woman now and she didn’t want to seem to be encouraging his interest.

  “No, thank you.”

  Andrew looked stung. “But—”

  “You heard the lady,” Jackson said coolly. “She said no.”

  Andrew Logan turned to Jackson and asked, “What business is it of yours, sir?”

  “She�
�s my wife, so that makes it my business.”

  Logan’s brown eyes widened. “Your wife?”

  One of the Mexican passengers who’d been silently observing the salesman’s attempt to charm the lovely redhead chuckled at the surprising turn of events.

  “Yes, my wife.”

  The salesman looked so disappointed, Jackson almost laughed too. “So, you’ll have to sell your combs somewhere else.”

  Grace was not amused by Jackson’s high-handedness, but kept her temper under control. Fussing at him the way she wanted to would serve no purpose. She thanked Logan again, then went over and sat down next to her husband.

  Keeping her voice low, she said, “So, you’re claiming me now?”

  “Yes, and where I come from we shoot claim jumpers.”

  “He was just being mannerly.”

  “You’ve a husband for that, remember?”

  “Oh, really? I hadn’t noticed.”

  He grinned to himself, then surprised her by pulling her onto his lap. “Here, if you want something to sit on, sit on me.”

  Grace could see everyone in the car watching, but rather than give them a show, she placed her head on his chest and prepared to sleep in his arms.

  Jackson held her tight.

  For the rest of the journey, Jackson had nothing to say during the daylight hours but held Grace against his heart every night.

  When Grace and Jackson finally departed the train near Marshall, she was stiff and smelly. Her blue traveling ensemble had not been designed to be slept in for over a week and as a result was dirty and creased. The hem of the skirt was now a dull brown due to the offal and dirt on the car’s floor, but she didn’t care. She and Jackson were together, even if he wasn’t real happy about it.

  “Wait here,” he told her. “I need to get my horse from the end car.”

  Grace nodded and watched him stride to the back of the long train. Clutching her valise, she inclined her head at the other passengers of color who’d disembarked. They were on their way to be reunited with family and friends, but Grace had no idea where she and Jackson were bound or what kind of reception they’d receive.