Lone Star Trail

by Darlene Franklin

  Jud chuckled. “That’s all right. You’ve been humming and singing and almost skipping along. Made me right happy to watch you.”

  “Can you come in for a few minutes? Mama will want to ask how Mrs. Morgan is doing.”

  “We don’t want to intrude,” Marion said.

  “Let us return your hospitality. I know you want to get home soon. It will just be a moment.” Wande opened the door and drank in the scent of hasenpfeffer. Yesterday Drud caught a rabbit, and Mama fixed the flavorful peppered hare for their Sunday dinner. Wande gestured for Marion and Jud to enter, hoping they would see the home as she did, filled with reminders of a faraway place. “Mama! Papa! Look who has come to visit.”

  Alvie bounced out of the room she shared with Wande, the cat in her arms. “Marion! Mr. Morgan!”

  “Is it just my imagination, or is Mittens getting fat?” Jud spoke in a low voice to Wande and winked.

  Wande giggled. “Do you want one of the yellow kittens?”

  The family gathered from the different rooms, and they chattered as if they hadn’t seen each other for months. Papa led in a prayer for Mrs. Morgan.

  “Won’t you join us for dinner?” Mama asked.

  “Another time,” Marion said. “Our neighbor, Mrs. Walford, offered to stay with Ma this morning, and we’ve already kept her too long.”

  “We will be back before sundown,” Wande said. As she watched the Morgans climb into their wagon, she remembered she planned to leave the Fleischers’ wagon in town for the family. She and Georg needed to finish their noon meal quickly and start walking.

  Papa had other ideas. After the meal, when Wande stood to help Mama clear the table, her parents exchanged a look. “Your father wishes to have a few words with you.” Mama shooed her from the kitchen.

  Wande held her breath. Mama might be the bear of the family, but everyone knew Papa ruled. “Have a few words with you” had come to mean a reprimand. She glanced at Georg, but he merely shrugged.

  God loves you. Capturing that thought in her heart, Wande straightened her back and followed Papa to the parlor.

  “Nein, daughter, you have no need to look like a frightened deer. You are not in trouble.”

  Wande offered an uncertain smile and settled in the familiar Biedermeier chair—solid, comfortable, fashioned out of a light ash wood. The same seat had held her through conversations with her father since she was old enough to understand the difference between right and wrong.

  Papa took a pipe from the shelf but didn’t light it. He almost never used tobacco, but holding it seemed to give him comfort. “Something troubled you last night. Because you are a grown woman, we allowed you to go to the church of your choosing this morning.” He smiled. “And it was good for you, ja?”

  “Ja.” Wande hugged that comfortable feeling close to her again. I will not be afraid. God loves me.

  “But now the time has come for us to talk of these bad things. Of what Konrad has done, what people are saying, and what you wish to do.”

  These talks with Papa—when he wasn’t reprimanding her but rather talking about a difficult situation—were the worst of all. God loves me, she repeated to herself. “You and Mama were right about Konrad after all.”

  “We did not wish to be, Liebchen. We hoped he loved you as we love each other. As God wishes a man to love his wife.”

  “I know,” Wande said. “But it is past. I cannot undo his marriage. I would not want him now, even if he wasn’t married.”

  Papa tapped the pipe on the arm of the chair. “Do you still want to be married?”

  That question stopped Wande. She feared she might crumple into a ball. “Who will want to marry me, Papa? I have nothing to offer, and everyone here knows my history.”

  “Ah, Liebchen.” Papa laid the pipe aside and leaned forward, hands on his knees. “God has the most special man for you. Never doubt that. Someone better than you can imagine.” He smiled. “God is providing for our needs—we have all found good jobs. Even your Mama has already been given piecework. When the right time comes, He will provide for the needs of your heart as well.”

  “Oh, Papa.” Tears welled in Wande’s eyes. “I will be happy, as long as I can be with you.”

  “No, Liebchen.” Papa rose and embraced his daughter. “God’s plan is for man and woman to leave their father and mother. He knows the day, the hour, the second.”

  “But until then …” Papa let her go and looked into her eyes. “You are our beloved daughter and you always have a place in our home. Until you are ready to leave it.”

  Marion tiptoed out of her mother’s bedroom. Now that Ma had begun to improve, she felt comfortable leaving her for short periods. Evenings, after Jud insisted everyone stop working, had become her favorite time of day. Marion held Wande to her promise to learn English. Sometimes Georg joined them, but not now. Tonight, the lesson was on the letters of the English alphabet.

  “You like to sing.” Marion smiled. “We have a song that teaches the alphabet.” Marion pulled out the chart she had made of upper- and lowercase letters.

  “Those look familiar.” Wande pointed. “Only we have more letters. Ä between A and B. Ö after O. A few others.” She recited the alphabet, beginning “Ah, ay, bay, say.”

  “Ah, bay, say?” Marion kept her face straight. “In English, we use the ‘ee’ sound for letters. “Aye, bee, cee.” She sang the alphabet song and got Wande to repeat it, but stopped before “kay.”

  “Jay.” The J in Wande’s mouth come out like a Y. “That letter is ‘yot’ in German.”

  “Ja, I know.” Marion teased. “Feel your tongue. Press it against the roof of your mouth. ‘Jay.’”

  After a couple dozen tries, Wande succeeded in an approximation of J. “So your brother’s name is Jood.” She smiled.

  “Did I hear my name?” Jud came in from the kitchen, where he had put the latest bandages in to soak. “Only in English it’s ‘Jud.’”

  “Jood.” Wande repeated, nodding.

  Marion looked at Jud and they both laughed. “Better.”

  The next part of the alphabet song went better than Marion expected. “El, em, en, oh, pay,” Wande sang.

  “Pee,” Marion corrected. “In English, we call the letter ‘pee.’”

  “Pee.” Wande sang the alphabet song all the way through a couple of times.

  “That is enough for tonight. Tomorrow we start using the McGuffey Readers,” Marion said. “I can’t wait.”

  Wande groaned.

  The door opened and Tom entered. “Marion, care to join me for a walk?”

  “Come in! We were just finishing.” Marion sighed. “But I need to go sit with Ma.”

  “I will sit with her. Take time with your junger mann,” Wande said. “I will sing the alphabet song. Mrs. Morgan can laugh at me.”

  Marion looked at the clock and up the stairs at the door to Ma’s room. She should go take care of her mother.

  “Go ahead with Tom.” Jud waved her away. “Ma will be all right until you get back.” Turning mock-serious, he wagged his finger at Tom. “But don’t stay out too long.”

  Tom grinned as he helped Marion into her coat. “Are you ready, ma’am?”

  “Don’t ‘ma’am’ me like I was an old woman.” She smiled up at him. He was looking-glass handsome, as tall as Jud, with dark hair that tended to grow ragged. She touched it where it edged over his collar. “Remind me to cut that for you sometime.”

  He muttered something and swept her out onto the porch and down the steps to the cover of the acacia trees. He faced her, holding her hands like delicate strands of silk. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

  “It’s just me, silly. You see me every day.”

  “Not enough. Never enough.” He bent close as if to kiss her, but she stopped him with a finger.

  “What do you mean?”

  He blew breath through his teeth. “I’ve hardly seen you since your Ma was hurt.”

  “What did you expect? My mother is ill.
” Surely Tom wasn’t complaining about her taking care of her mother.

  “You still find time to teach English to those … Germans.” Tom ground the word through his teeth and averted his eyes.

  Marion dropped her finger from Tom’s chest. “You resent my friendship with Wande because she’s German?”

  “Ah, Marion-gal, it’s not that.” Tom lifted her chin so he could look into her eyes. “I’d resent anybody who took away any of my time with you. I just want to be with you. For the rest of my life.”

  This time, when he bent to kiss her, she didn’t push him away.

  Jud watched the two figures embrace under the acacia trees. He resisted the temptation to break them apart; that might make Marion dig in her heels. The time had come to face the fact that his sister had grown up.

  Unlike his other sister. Billie would never have a chance to grow up. Anger against the Comanches bubbled inside him. Sometimes he felt like the world had ranged itself against Texas, but he couldn’t hold that against Tom. He’d lost his parents in pursuit of the Texas dream.

  Jud glanced at the clock. He’d give them fifteen minutes—then he’d go out and split the lovers apart for the night.

  He had just dropped the last of the day’s bandages into the water when he heard laughter on the porch. A brief pause followed before the door opened. Jud waited a few seconds before coming out of the kitchen.

  Marion’s face was flushed, and they held hands as boldly as a married couple. They had been kissing. Jud counted to ten, telling himself to get hold of his anger.

  “Jud!” Marion giggled. “We didn’t think you’d still be up.” She dropped Tom’s hand, but they stood so close their fingertips still touched.

  “Jud.” Tom straightened his shoulders and pulled himself to his full height, which still left him not much taller than Jud’s shoulder. “Or perhaps I should say ‘Mr. Morgan.’” He dug his hands in his pockets, then took them out again. “Marion and I have been talking …”

  “You’ve been doing more than talking,” Jud said.

  “No, sir. That is, yes, sir. What I’m trying to say is that I’d like to ask for your sister’s hand in marriage.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Marion looked at Jud, gold darting through her hazel eyes in expectation.

  “I suppose the lady is willing?” Jud said. Marion blushed and nodded. “Why don’t you go on upstairs while I have a talk with Tom.”

  Marion looked at him, questions swimming in her eyes.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “I won’t hurt him … much.”

  She managed a laugh that was half a worried cough. “Good night.” The dazzling smile she sent Tom expressed her feelings better than any words.

  The two men watched her climb the stairs. In the space of those few steps, Jud traced Marion’s journey from the gangly twelve-year-old she had been when Pa died, through her chatterbox years of girlhood, to the woman she had become. From the way Tom looked at her, it was clear he saw no girl, but a woman ready to take to wife.

  “Let’s go outside.” Jud jerked his head in toward the door, and Tom followed.

  Jud wanted to bang the two lovers’ heads together. They were so young. Younger even than Calder was when he married. Calder acted like an old man compared to Tom. This kid had never found his own feet to stand on.

  The two men headed toward the corral, passing by the acacia trees. Jud spoke in as mild a tone as he could muster. “From here on, I want you to stay on the porch when you’re talking to my sister.” He nodded toward the trees.

  “Yes, sir.” The rush of red into Tom’s cheeks made it clear he understood.

  “How do you intend to support a wife? Where do you plan to live?”

  “I thought we could live at the house until I save enough money to get us a place of our own.”

  “How much money do you have saved?”

  “Not enough.” Tom hung his head.

  “How much?”

  “Five dollars.”

  The news was worse than Jud feared. “You know you’ll have extra expenses when you get married. And even more, once babies start coming. And generally, the cost of things goes up, not down. Especially with more people moving here all the time.”

  “More Germans, you mean.”

  Jud shrugged. “I’m just saying, the longer you wait, the more it will cost you.”

  “I know. I just …”

  “You’re in love and you want to get married. I understand. But you need to understand that Marion is my sister. And it’s my responsibility to see that you can provide for her.” He started walking, and Tom trotted behind.

  “Are you saying I can’t marry her?”

  Jud stopped where he could look across the pastureland. Only vague shapes were visible under the half moon, but his imagination pictured the two herds that roamed the hills. Truth was, Ma and Pa didn’t have much more than Tom when they arrived in Victoria. Just their love for each other, and two of the finest Morgan horses on this side of the Mississippi—that and three growing children. But they worked hard and saved. By the time little Billie was born, they’d been able to buy their own land.

  “Tell you what.” Jud turned his attention back to Tom. “My sister seems to love you, although I’m not sure why. But I won’t let her marry a broke cowboy. I especially don’t want her married to someone working for someone else, even if it is family.”

  Tom’s face fell with each sentence.

  Jud took pity on him. “But if you’re willing …”

  “Yes?” Tom’s eagerness said a lot.

  “I’ll raise your pay by four bits a week, only I’ll keep back fifty cents and hold it for you and Marion. If you can figure out how to put more into savings, give me any extra. And we’ll both keep our eyes out for some land you can afford.”

  “Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!” Tom pumped his hand. “I’ll prove myself worthy of Marion, you’ll see.”

  “It’s Jud.” He clamped his hand on the shoulder of his future brother-in-law and squeezed, then strolled to the house.

  Wande rubbed salve into her hands. Now that she no longer scrubbed bandages several times a day, they were starting to heal. Three weeks had passed since Mrs. Morgan’s accident. She had recovered enough to join in simple tasks in the kitchen, though neither Marion nor Jud would let their mother near the stove.

  Now they were shaping biscuits, a change from the usual cornbread—twenty round shapes, barely enough for supper with three men at the table. “Should we make more?” Wande said.

  “Mix some more dough, sure. But I have something else in mind.” Mrs. Morgan stood, grimacing where her right side brushed the table. Wande kept her mouth closed. Mrs. Morgan didn’t welcome pity, and the doctor had urged her to move about as much as she felt able.

  Mrs. Morgan disappeared into the pantry and returned with a sack of dried peaches. “How about some peach cobbler? Make a few more biscuits but use the rest of the dough for the cobbler.”

  “Cobbler? Is that like a strudel?” One thing Wande had noticed, whether German or American, everyone loved sweets.

  “Why don’t we find out?” Mrs. Morgan gestured to the pantry. “Do you have the ingredients you need to make a strudel?”

  “We usually use apples, but I could try peaches.” Wande thought they had everything else, but went into the pantry to check. She didn’t find currants, but she could drop a few more raisins into the mixture. Gathering the ingredients in her apron, she brought them to the kitchen. “First I need to make phyllo dough, more like your pie crust than biscuits.” She molded the flour ingredients into a ball and started kneading it.

  “Vinegar? I never would have thought of it.” Mrs. Morgan sprinkled cinnamon and sugar over the dried peaches before adding a bit of water and dots of butter.

  “It is the way my mother has always made it.”

  Mrs. Morgan had the cobbler ready to go into the oven by the time Wande finished kneading the dough. “Let me do that.” Wande pushed the baking
pan into the oven. “Should the biscuits go in yet?” Mrs. Morgan shook her head.

  Wande placed the phyllo ball in the cold cellar while she worked on the filling: an end of a loaf of bread, crumbled; three handfuls of dried peaches; a handful of raisins; all sprinkled with the same cinnamon and sugar Mrs. Morgan had used for the cobbler. By the time she had finished rolling the dough and forming the strudel, Mrs. Morgan was hovering over the oven, removing the cobbler. Soup bubbled on the stove.

  “Mrs. Morgan! I am supposed to cook. I am so sorry.”