Wande explained about the castle, and she received the best reward she could have hoped for.
Marion laughed. “I never thought of Jud being anything like a knight.”
“It has nothing to do with where you live or what work you do. It is who a man is inside. Jud is that kind of man.”
“You like him, don’t you?”
Wande gave the only answer she could. “What woman would not like a knight?”
“Yeah. Too bad some turn out to be villains.”
Their laughter didn’t quite cover the sound of hooves. Wande slipped out of bed and knelt by the window. A giggling Marion joined her. They lifted their heads so they could see into the yard.
Jud slid from JM’s back, his left arm cradled against his chest.
“He’s hurt.” Wande grabbed her dressing gown and raced downstairs.
Mrs. Morgan sat in the parlor, eyes closed and snoring gently. She was still dressed in her day clothes.
By the time Wande buttoned her dressing gown, Marion had thundered down the stairs. Mrs. Morgan’s eyes flew open. “Is he here?”
“Outside.”
The front door opened and Jud stumbled in. His left eye had swollen, and he lurched on his feet, but he smiled as wide as the Atlantic. “I wasn’t expecting a welcoming party. If I had known about it, I’d have tried to get home sooner.” His laughter doubled him over in pain.
Wande did not know if she wanted to yell or laugh. He looked like a little boy coming home from the schoolyard after his first fight. Some shame, some swagger—and the biggest grin this side of Christmas.
She wanted to give him the same treatment Mama gave Georg and Drud after their first fight. But the reprimand wouldn’t come. Turning on her heel, she went upstairs and rummaged through her bag for Mama’s ointment. She went back down and found them in the kitchen. Mrs. Morgan eased Jud’s shirt open and exposed a portion of his chest. Blushing, Wande retreated up a couple of steps and made more noise on the stairs. “Is he dressed?”
A cough cut short Jud’s laugh. “All except for a bit of missing skin.”
“I brought my ointment.” Wande leaned forward enough to see the kitchen. Mrs. Morgan was dabbing with a rag at an ugly patch of scraped skin down his left side. Wande winced. Mama’s ointment would surely ease the pain.
She checked that her dressing gown was closed and walked into the kitchen.
Jud held a piece of steak to his eye. “If you think I look bad, you should see Tom.”
“And Tom won’t get any of your special ointment.” Marion sounded pleased.
Wande offered the jar. “It has helped Georg more than once.” She sneaked a look at Jud’s bare skin and glanced away.
Mrs. Morgan took the jar and dabbed some on her fingers. “Does it sting?”
“Yes,” Wande said.
“No,” Jud countered. “I used it when I got blisters on my hands. Go ahead. I’m a big boy.”
Mrs. Morgan coated the wound. Jud’s gaze didn’t flicker from where he watched Wande. Marion took boiling water from the stove and poured it over tea leaves.
Even when his mother probed the sensitive skin, Jud didn’t blink. He smiled, a half-smile somewhere between grimace and a grin. “So even German boys get into fights?”
Wande giggled. “Yes.” She accepted a cup of tea from Marion.
By Tuesday morning, Jud’s fight-induced euphoria had faded, replaced by a pounding head and aching muscles up and down his side. He felt every bit of his twenty-six years, not to mention foolish. And not regretting a minute of it.
After Jud swung the first punch, Tom wasted no time. He was a scrappy fighter, but it was an uneven match. Jud had several inches and maybe thirty pounds of work-hardened muscle on the kid. The fight didn’t last long, only two or three punches each. Jud came to his senses first and pulled back. Tom wiped the blood from his lip and raised his fists to take another swing.
“No more.” Jud was sorry he had started it—a little. “But don’t come back to the ranch again—ever. Not without a printed invitation.” He climbed on JM’s back and let the gelding find his way home.
Jud touched the bruised area on his side. It did feel better this morning. Wande’s ointment worked miracles.
Below he heard voices—Bert had come up to the house for breakfast. Time for rehashing the previous night’s events had come and gone. He finished dressing and ignored the twinge in his side as he went downstairs.
Georg arrived about the time they finished breakfast. He took one look at Jud and raised his eyebrows. Bert shook his head.
Here might be a good reason not to get involved in fisticuffs. He didn’t want his ranch hands getting into scuffles. But Jud saw no point in lying. These men knew a black eye when they saw one. “I ran into something.”
“A fist.” Bert curled the fingers of his right hand and grinned.
Jud grinned back. “Tom’s fist.”
“Ah.” Georg nodded. “Alvie told me some of what occurred. But more must have happened. You would not fight over something …” Georg moved his hands together. “… so small.”
Jud frowned. His men didn’t need to know that Tom had robbed him. Or perhaps they did. They could keep an eye on the house when they were close by. “He took something that didn’t belong to him. I went to get it back.”
A smile flickered on Georg’s face. “We will make certain he does not have another opportunity.”
“Of course you can count on me, Boss.” Bert tipped his hat.
“I doubt he’ll show his face here again.” Jud hoped Tom had learned his lesson. “Let’s get to work.”
They spent the week working with the colts a few at a time, and Georg proved a fast learner. He had picked up riding in a flash, as did Alvie, the couple of times he had put her on the back of a horse.
As Jud dressed on Thursday morning, he mused on Georg’s skill with horses. Maybe all the Fleischers would do as well, if given the chance. Only they had never had the opportunity to own any horses.
Jud tried to imagine a life without horses. Impossible. His clothes suited his occupation, from his hat to his spurs. Maybe if he hadn’t been able to raise Morgan horses here in Texas, he would have wanted to move somewhere else. Like the Germans pursuing whatever dreams they held.
If the Fleischers were born horsemen, he wanted to get Wande on the back of another horse as soon as possible. The thought brought a smile.
Georg knocked on the kitchen door during the middle of breakfast. “Boss.” Georg called Jud “Boss” during their working hours. He said he wanted to show Jud the proper respect. “A colt is missing …”
Jud hurried out to the corral. He could see over the backs of the horses to the far side of the corral. “One, two … ten, eleven … You’re right.” Which one? He opened the gate and walked in. Georg followed and latched the gate behind them.
He counted seven fillies—they were all accounted for. So which of the five colts was gone? There was Shadow, a close replica of his dear old dad. Hercules, who would some day make someone a good, solid workhorse. Twilight, Moonshine …
The colt that was missing was the cream of the crop. The one he wanted to succeed Midnight as stallion. Crockett.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Tom again.
If Jud were a cursing man, he’d have let out a string to turn his tongue blue. How could one man create so much trouble? Jud reined in his anger. He had no proof Tom had taken the colt. Maybe Crockett had spent the night up in the pasture—he hadn’t come in with the others, and they missed him last night when they brought in the horses.
Jud turned to Georg and Bert. “What do you think happened?”
Georg cocked his head and thought about it. “I am certain he was here last night.” He blushed. “I gave him an extra treat.” Jud smiled.
“And if we had left the gate open, all the horses would leave.” So far Georg was echoing his thoughts. Jud turned to Bert. “The dogs would have kicked up a ruckus if someone came in the yard last night. And
they was quiet.” Bert took off his hat and scratched his head. “I don’t know what could have happened.”
The dogs wouldn’t bark at Tom. They considered him family. But Jud wouldn’t confront him, not without proof. And once he had proof, he’d go straight to the sheriff. “Until we figure it out, we’ll stand watch over them.” He turned to Georg. “Can you stay tonight?”
Georg gazed in the direction of his family’s farm. “I will go home and tell Papa I will spend tonight. I am a soldier in your army. I must stand guard over the horses. He will understand.”
“Good. That’s settled.”
Wande was glad the whole family came to market on Saturday. Next week none of them might be able to come; they expected to be planting the first crop on their farm.
Mama missed Georg, Wande knew, with all the extra hours he was putting in at the ranch. With their work hours, and Alvie’s lessons, they spent almost as much time with the Morgans as at home.
Now with autumn approaching, the temperatures had dropped to a bearable level. Or perhaps Wande had grown accustomed to the heat. Whether due to the milder weather or the easing of cholera cases, people flocked into town. Wande was glad she brought jars of pickles, as well as squash, for sale. Housewives without their own kitchen gardens wanted to buy ahead.
Frau Decker stopped by the stall as usual. “You never told me. Did you get any white potatoes?”
Wande shook her head. “None that you would wish to eat. But I do have sweet potatoes, if you want them.”
Her nose wrinkled at the thought. “I hope to buy German food from you, fraulein.”
“Then buy a jar of my pickles, made from my mother’s favorite recipe.”
Frau Decker smiled and handed over the cash readily enough.
“Good morning, Fraulein Fleischer.” Pastor Bader approached the stall. “I see you have pickles today.” He bought a jar.
Alvie came out of the store with the lemon drop she usually convinced Mr. Grenville to give to her. If he gave candy away to every child, did he ever sell any? “I do not understand why Mr. Grenville gives away candy. No child ever pays.”
“That’s easy.” Alvie plopped on the low stool beside her sister. “I bring Mama to the store so I can get candy, and she buys things. She buys more because he gives me candy.”
“When did you get so smart?” Wande tugged at her sister’s hair, braided in the Texas style.
“There’s Georg, down by the livery. May I go?”
Wande was about to say no, but the look in Alvie’s eyes changed her mind. Every girl should have the opportunity to fall in love with horses. Here in Texas, Alvie might even get her own horse one day. “Go ahead.”
Alvie skipped down the street as if she was rolling a hoop—not quite ladylike, but not an outright run, either. Wande sighed. She had been so much more grown up when she was ten, but by then she had four younger brothers and sisters and was Mama’s helper. Alvie was their baby. She did her share of the work, but Mama seemed willing to let her remain a child. Perhaps Wande would feel the same way about her youngest.
Mama searched the stalls, looking for a bargain on wheat flour and sugar, as well as special items dear to a German cook’s heart. She promised to come back to the stall in time for Wande to shop for seeds. Next week Wande would plant her winter garden. This time she would grow cabbage. Her mouth watered. They would eat sauerkraut sparingly until they had a fresh supply.
An Amerikaner stopped by the stall, interested in Wande’s butter. By the time she finished the sale, Alvie and Georg were almost upon her. Jud was with them. “Good morning, Jud.”
“Morning.” He tipped his hat, his eyes gleaming at her.
Her cheeks warmed and she glanced toward Pastor Bader, who stood by the booth.
“I told Alvie she must stay with you,” Georg said.
Alvie pouted.
“Oh?” Wande said.
“Jud and I have business we must do.”
“What business in town?”
Jud mouthed the word “Tom,” and she went still. “Be careful.”
“Don’t worry.” Jud winked. The two men walked away. Georg had filled out, almost as wide across his shoulders as Jud.
“What did you mean, be careful? Where are they going?” Alvie stuck out her tongue, examined her lemon drop, and popped it back in her mouth. “I bet they’re going somewhere Mama would disapprove of. Don’t you think so, Pastor Bader?”
“Indeed, I do.” The pastor’s eyes followed as Jud rounded the corner.
Wande turned her attention on Alvie. “You should not stick out your tongue like that.” Wande handed Alvie a washrag and made her wipe her face. She hoped that would take care of the stickiness.
“People always talk as if they think I can’t hear what they’re saying,” Alvie said. “Papa says Georg is a man, and Mama must let him follow his own conscience.”
“Nein, child,” Pastor Bader said. “We need to follow the Word of God and not lean on our own understanding.”
A customer approached, and Alvie dropped the subject. After Georg had told their family about the theft of the horse, Papa worried. First their chickens, then their cows, now this. Wande knew he planned to ask at the agricultural society if anyone had experienced similar problems. Or was someone targeting their two families? Wande sent up a prayer for wisdom and protection. Men had the hard work of being courageous and fighting battles, while women needed as much strength to stay at home and pray. God knew that.
The discoveries Jud and Georg made that afternoon led to a lively discussion over the Fleischers’ evening meal.
“So you did not see this Morgan colt at the boardinghouse.” Wande hoped, for Marion’s sake, that Tom was not to blame for the theft.
“No,” Georg said. “But Frau Nellie said Tom left only yesterday—that he was taking a trip, but would return. And she thought she saw a colt with him.”
“That is not proof.” Papa scowled. “Herr Morgan should act only if he has evidence.”
Alvie shoveled peaches into her mouth, listening to every word. Wande stifled a laugh.
“I spoke with the society.” Papa laid down his knife and fork. “We are the only ones who have had these kind of problems. Still, it may be nothing more than forgetfulness.”
Protests erupted around the table.
“I know. We do not believe we forgot. I know Herr Morgan is not a careless man. But as long as we are human, we can make mistakes.” He picked up his utensils and bit into a sausage. “Mama, you make a fine sausage chowder.” The discussion had come to an end.
They ate a few minutes without conversation. Mama broke the silence, pointing out the window at the ground broken in preparation for the winter crop. “People have been very kind to us since we came to Victoria. Some of them are even coming to help us plant our first crop. I want to do something to thank them.”
Alvie raised her head from her plate. “That’s what the Pilgrims did their first year here.”
“Pil-grims?” Papa said. “Are they Texans?”
“No, Papa. They came from England to America—to Massachusetts, that’s far away from here, almost as far as Germany—so they could worship God the way they thought was right. But they did not know how to make a living from the land. Indians taught them what to grow and how to plant crops.” She grinned. “The way the Amerikaners give us advice.”
“That is interesting. Did they do something special to thank the Indians?” Mama handed the dish of beans to Wande to pass.
“They did. After the harvest, they held a feast and invited the Indians to attend.”
Mama looked at Papa. “We could hold a feast. A thank-you feast for helping us plant the crop.” She nodded at Georg. “I do not wish to wait until after harvest. Then we will be holding a wedding.”
“If that is what you wish to do,” Papa said.
Everyone had someone they wanted to invite. The Morgans and the Schumanns, of course. Alvie wanted to ask her teachers, and Papa suggested Pastor B
ader. When the number grew to thirty, Mama said to stop thinking of people to invite. They set the date for next Saturday.
Jud gained a new respect for farmers as he helped the Fleischers plant their crop. To make up for some of the extra hours Georg had put in at the ranch, he volunteered for two days of farm duty, but he hadn’t expected his back to ache or his hands to get so sore.
The women kept the men supplied with cool water. Wande brought out a fresh bucket and handed him the ladle. He dipped it into the water, poured a little over his head and hands, and winced. She laughed and dug in her apron pocket for her jar of ointment. “I thought this might come in handy.”
Lone Star Trail Page 23