Lone Star Trail

by Darlene Franklin

  Jud dug through the bits of dialogue he had heard. Something about fall crops?

  “I’m not much of a farmer.” Jud pointed around the barn. “Horses are my world.”

  “But you and Marion, you taught Wande what to plant. Papa has a book that the Verein gives to everyone who comes here. It says what to plant and when and every single step.” Georg shook his head. “But Papa says it sounds like the same way he farmed in Germany, and he wonders if there is a better way to plant here in Texas.”

  Too bad he didn’t ask the Walfords when he had a chance. “A lot of people hereabouts plant cotton. It makes good money and grows pretty good.”

  “But those people often have slaves to help them pick the cotton, ja? We did not own slaves in Germany.”

  Jud nodded. “A lot of them do, yes.”

  “So Papa wonders if it is a good crop for a single family to grow. We know nothing about it.”

  Jud shifted from cleaning the stalls to rubbing down JM. The horse hadn’t had a thorough grooming in days. “Maybe that agricultural society you belong to can give you information on crops.” Still, he wished he knew more about farming. Georg made him feel pretty special, asking him all these questions.

  Ma rang the bell for dinner. As Jud passed the parlor window, he could hear someone stumbling through a simple piano melody.

  “Is that Alvie?” Georg said.

  Jud nodded glumly. “Think so.”

  The two men washed at the pump before going in. Alvie jumped up from the piano bench when she saw Jud.

  “He won’t hurt you. I told him you were going to take lessons. Didn’t I?” Marion dared Jud to protest. And yes, she had told him.

  “I like to hear you play.” Georg hugged his little sister. They walked into the kitchen, chattering.

  “I like having her play also,” Marion said. “It’s—I don’t know—a little like having our Billie back with us. I’m glad Wande lets me borrow her little sister.”

  Marion leveled her eyes on her brother. “Having Alvie around the house is a comfort to me. I pray you can feel the same way.” She followed Georg and Alvie into the kitchen.

  The back of Jud’s neck tickled. He knew before he turned that he would see Wande.

  “Do you not want Alvie to play the piano?” Her face paled under the color the Texas sun had added to her skin.

  “It is hard,” he said. “No one has played the piano since … Billie.” He drew out a long sigh. “But I am sorry I scared Alvie. What good is a piano if no one plays it? Marion was brave enough to take the first step.”

  Ma poked her head out the door. “Are you two coming to eat or not? Your food is getting cold.”

  Alvie went home with Georg after the noon meal, sparing Jud an afternoon full of wedding plans. Somehow throughout the evening he kept bumping into Wande. When he went back for a second piece of pie, she was washing the dishes. When he retired to his desk to balance the books, she was thumbing through an English Bible. Even when he went to his room, he found Wande changing the bed linens. He stood in the doorway.

  “I can make my own bed.” His voice sounded crosser than he intended.

  “I only want to help. I just finished ironing the sheets. I love clean sheets. They smell like fresh air and sunshine.”

  He lifted his pillow to his nose. “Too bad we can’t bottle that and spray it around the barn.”

  She giggled. “There, I am done.” She brushed past him to get to the door, then turned. “And Jud?” She had almost conquered the J sound in his name. “Thank you for inviting us back to work.” She walked out the door and disappeared in the direction of Marion’s room.

  Jud wished she hadn’t left so abruptly.

  A screech like a wild animal pierced the air in front of the Fleischers’ barn on Friday morning. Wande ran from the house and arrived at the same time as Papa and Georg.

  Mama stood in the middle of the chicken pen, an empty basket dangling from one arm. Wande pinched her nose against the stench. When she approached the fence, she could see the cause. Bloody feathers and bones lay scattered across the pen.

  “What is this?” Papa took Mama in his arms.

  “Some kind of animal, it must have been.”

  “But if a coyote got in, surely we would have heard something.” Georg walked the fence. “There is no break. It is as if a person did this.”

  Wande shivered. “Are they all gone?”

  Mama could only nod. “Every one of our laying hens is eaten.”

  In big ways and small, Texas demanded a lot from them. Wande lifted her chin. She was ready to fight back.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  The sun had not yet risen. Last night Mama asked Wande to accompany her to market Saturday morning, though she only had a small bin of okra and cucumbers to sell. Mama would look for more hens when she was in town. She carried a handful of the beautiful purple flowers that grew everywhere to lay at Drud’s grave.

  Wande’s heart tightened. “Do you think the illness has passed?”

  Mama shook her head. “We hear nothing out here. I am not used to country life. Always I have lived in the city.” Tears crept into her eyes. This first year in the new land was wearing her mother down.

  “Come, Georg is ready to leave. He wants to see his Ertha.” Wande hoped the trip would encourage her mother. As for Georg, nothing bothered him much, not when thoughts of his beloved filled his mind. Though still weak, the youngest Schumann girl had survived the cholera. “We want to get there before the sun is too high and the best chickens are gone.”

  “Mrs. Gruber should have some chickens I can buy. But I do not know if I wish to pay what she will charge.”

  “I would not worry about the price. She will be reasonable.” Wande hooked her arm with her mother’s and led her to the wagon, where Georg helped them onto the seat. Alvie waved from her bedroom window.

  They traveled west in the pearly dark, the light behind them not quite illuminating the road ahead. Still, Georg handled the oxen expertly and avoided most of the ruts.

  Georg set up the stall in their favorite spot in front of the store. Mrs. Grenville waved to them from the door. “I didn’t know you were coming to town today, Mrs. Fleischer. How good to see you too, Wande. I was so sorry to hear about Drud.”

  Georg made sure they were settled before he took off, whistling, toward Ertha’s house.

  “It’s good to hear someone whistling,” Mrs. Grenville said. “It’s been all doom and gloom around here.” She remained on the porch to chat.

  “Is the sickness still bad?” Mama said.

  Wande stayed busy, arranging her vegetables. To encourage people to buy the okra, she had written down a couple of recipes from Mrs. Morgan, one for frying, one for soup.

  “Ten more died this week. Poor Doc Treviño looks like a ghost. He’s hardly eating or sleeping.” Mrs. Grenville lifted the edge of her apron to her eyes. “That, and we received word this week of more casualties from the war.”

  “I am sorry to hear that.” Mama spread a bright tablecloth over the stall. “Maybe people will want to come out and meet with others. Our fresh vegetables will help those who are ill.”

  “No disrespect, Mrs. Fleischer, but I’m afraid it’s going to take more than a few garden vegetables to cure this cholera.” She smiled. “If there’s any you don’t sell, I’ll take ’em for you.”

  “Are you and Mr. Grenville well?”

  “So far, praise the Lord.” Mrs. Grenville went back into the store.

  The sun had not fully risen, yet the air was already sweltering. Wande did not like this Texas summer. Even the plants protested. At least the covering over the stall provided some shelter. A few more people set up stalls along the street, about half the usual number.

  “There is Mrs. Gruber. I will ask about chickens.” Mama left. She stopped at a number of stalls and chatted with the women.

  Frau Decker—a regular customer as well as the lead soprano in the chorale society—stopped by and turned
over the okra. “I tried frying these. They were okay. Not as good as sautéed mushrooms.”

  “If you want to try the okra again,” Wande said, “I have a soup recipe you can make.”

  “Who wants soup in this heat?” Frau Decker thought about it.

  Wande gave her the recipe anyway. When they came to Texas, she did not know she would have to learn a whole new way of cooking.

  “So you still have vegetables to sell.”

  Wande turned her head at the familiar voice. “Jud, I did not expect to see you here.”

  “Marion insisted she had to do some shopping.” He lounged against the railing in front of the store. He nodded down the street, where Marion chatted with Miss Potson. “And Ma thought it would be good for her to get out of the house.”

  “Your mother is a wise woman. Marion should not hide away at the house as if she has done something wrong.” Mama had insisted Wande join the chorale society in spite of the rumors about her and Konrad. Wande was glad she did. “Do you have business in town yourself?”

  Jud’s nearness made her feel crowded.

  “Do you have any tomatoes?” a customer asked.

  Wande shook her head. “The heat has killed them all.”

  The woman passed on.

  Jud hadn’t moved. He stood there, as if he belonged.

  “Marion asked me, if I ran into you, to tell you Alvie’s welcome any time she wants to come play the piano.” Jud swiveled his head around. Georg was with Ertha, but no sign of the girl. “Where is Alvie? I expected to find her here.”

  “She stayed home this morning. Papa made her a special chest for her things, and she is busy arranging everything. She is making a doll out of a corncob.”

  Billie had one special doll, one that still waited for her to return. If he told Ma about Alvie’s corncob, she’d want to give her Billie’s doll. He might ask her about it. Or he might not. “If you don’t mind, I’ll wait here until Marion and Ma finish shopping.”

  “You do not wish to join the game of checkers?” Wande nodded to the men across the street.

  Jud was reluctant to leave with Tom around. “I’ll hang out here.”

  “Then sit down.” Wande shifted a few crates under the stall and pulled out a low stool.

  He eyed it. “I think I’ll stand. My knees would hit my chin if I took that seat.”

  “I am sorry.”

  “You have nothing to be sorry for.” Marion had insisted he keep Wande company. He wondered if Wande was aware of Marion’s machinations. Her own disappointment with Tom had driven her to help Jud—at least that’s how it appeared to him. She found opportunities to throw them together several times every day. Only yesterday, on Wande’s day off, she sent him to the Fleischers’ farm to “borrow” some butter.

  Wande listened to a customer explain how to make sweet pickles from cucumbers, her face intent in concentration. No, Jud thought. Such an idea would cause Wande as much consternation as it caused him.

  Marion and Ma left the dry goods store and meandered down the street. Wande waved at them. Marion smiled and walked in their direction while Ma stayed behind at a stall to haggle over the price of some seeds.

  “I’ve just heard good news,” Marion said. “Our church is going to have a picnic social after the services tomorrow. The pastor just told me.” She nudged Jud in the back, where Wande couldn’t see. “You will come, of course. And your family is also welcome. No need to bring any food. Ma is already planning enough food to feed General Scott and the army.”

  Wande agreed quickly enough, Jud thought as he got dressed on Sunday morning. She checked with her parents, and soon the event became a joint venture between the German Lutheran church and their congregation. He tucked in his shirt, buttoned his trousers, and opened the door.

  Marion stood at the door to her bedroom wearing her new spring dress. That was a change. She had worn only the darkest colors she owned since Tom broke their engagement, as if she had gone into mourning. “You’re wearing that?” she said.

  “What’s wrong with it? It’s clean.”

  “But we’re going to a party.” Marion shook her head with a gesture that said “men.” The clock chimed eight. “We have time. Come on.” She led him back into his room. “You have a vest in here somewhere.” She opened his dresser drawers.

  “Wait a minute. I don’t want you going through my things.” Jud frowned. “And I’m not wearing a vest. It’s the middle of July, and it’s only a church social.” Marion kept searching.

  He stretched his arm in front of the drawer, keeping her from digging any further. “I’m serious. Even if you find it, I won’t wear it.”

  Marion pouted for a second. “Then at least wear a different shirt. That one’s been washed so many times, it’s the color of soap.” She stopped rustling among the clothes. “How about this one?” She handed him a blue and red plaid shirt that always reminded Jud of the flag.

  “Not that one. This one.” Ma stood at the door, holding a fine linen shirt that had belonged to Pa.

  “I can’t …”

  “You can—and you will. You are much the same size as your pa. And you’ll do us proud.”

  “Since when are you both so concerned about how I look?” Jud felt like he was ten years old, when Ma forced his head under the pump and made him clean up.

  Ma looked at him from head to toe, concentration forming wrinkles around her eyes. “Too bad I don’t have time to trim your hair.”

  “Longer hair is in fashion, Ma.” Marion patted the back of Jud’s head. “Just be sure you brush it.”

  Jud had enough. “I can’t change if you don’t leave.”

  Marion grinned and shut the door behind her.

  When they arrived at church—a little late, thanks to all the attention to his attire—wagons lined the lawn. He helped Marion and Ma from the wagon, and they hustled inside. Rather than the sparse attendance Jud had expected due to the cholera epidemic, everyone who could stand had come out—including some people he hadn’t seen in church for years.

  On the left side of the aisle, in the fourth row where his family normally sat, the Fleischers waited for them. Alvie spotted them and tugged at Wande’s sleeve.

  When Jud saw Wande in her mauve dress, he was glad he had taken the time to change. Marion nudged him forward and first into the pew, so he ended up sitting next to Wande. Her eyes swept over him swiftly, but he knew she had noticed his fancier-than-usual shirt and the extra attention he had paid to his hair.

  The pew was so crowded, there was barely space to slip a thin Bible between him and Wande. He was aware of her every movement, the way she explained the differences in the service to her family, and her sweet soprano voice ringing out with the English hymns she had come to know and love.

  Jud allowed himself to get lost in the music, in worship of the God worthy of all praise, his voice harmonizing with Wande’s.

  When the last amen sounded, Alvie darted out through the open doors with the other children, searching for the promised game of town ball. Their mothers bustled after them, ready to spread food across the plank tables assembled on the lawn. Mrs. Fleischer followed Ma.

  “I should go.” Wande fidgeted at his side.

  “No, they have plenty of help.” Marion patted her hand and followed their mothers out the door. “You stay and keep Jud company.”

  “Don’t feel like you have to keep me company. I am old enough to take care of myself. But if you insist …” Jud extended his arm to Wande.

  Wande accepted and they walked down the aisle. “I am certain you can do anything you want to.”

  Jud’s heart warmed as if he had just been given a Christmas orange.

  The sanctuary had almost emptied. Jud saw the gleam of the worn wooden pews, the white walls in need of fresh paint, the piano even more out of tune than theirs at home. The church had taught him about the Lord—and so much else—since he was a young boy. He wondered if the Fleischers felt the same way about their place of worship. He he
ld the door for Wande, and they stepped into the sunshine.

  Marion waved to them, then froze in place. She stared at something behind them.

  Jud turned his head.

  Tom came around the corner of the church with a redhead by his side. Their laughter said it all.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Marion forced herself to stop staring, to turn away and walk toward Jud and Wande. “I began to think you got lost inside the church.” She managed a chuckle.