Mallory

by Hebby Roman

  She fiddled with her brandy glass. “They were like locusts, those men from the North who…” She glanced up. “My apologies, I didn’t mean to speak ill of—”

  “No apologies necessary. I may have fought for the Union, but there were good and honorable men on both sides. And there are always men who take advantage of people’s misfortunes.”

  “Thank you for your understanding. The carpetbaggers took over the local government, assessing enormous taxes on the plantations. Bankrupting many of the planters.” She chewed on her lip. “My father sold off some of our land and our townhouse. He managed to pay the taxes, but then he took out a loan to start the Savannah Cotton Exchange with his friends. They felt commerce, rather than agriculture, would be the South’s future and restore their fortunes.”

  “Clever man. What went wrong?” He finished his brandy.

  This time, he refilled both their glasses without asking.

  “Let me backtrack a bit,” she said. Now, she was on shaky ground, and she’d need to be careful not to tell him everything without lying.

  “While my father was trying to restore our finances, my aunt, my father’s sister, invited me to join her in Charleston. My aunt, Sephora Claiborne, paid the tuition to Miss Prentiss’ Finishing School. She wanted me to finish my education and be introduced into society.”

  “I gather your aunt wasn’t lacking in money.”

  “Oh, no, her husband owned a middling-sized plantation, but most of his money came from shipping. And despite the blockade during the war, enough of his ships had gotten through to make him very wealthy, indeed. With the war over, his fortune grew.

  “As soon as the Charleston-Savannah railroad was restored, I was sent to my aunt Sephora. I finished school and was presented to Charleston society through my uncle’s membership at the St. Cecilia Society. My aunt paid for all my gowns and accessories, as my father was struggling to start the Cotton Exchange.”

  She stopped and sipped her brandy. The clock chimed eleven times. She hadn’t been up this late since those heady days of her debut.

  “Did you enjoy your debutante season?”

  “Yes, of course, but I did something very foolish.” She hesitated.

  He filled her glass for the third time, and she knew she must refuse more. But right now, the world was a comforting, vague place, hazy but pleasant.

  “What could you have possibly done?” His question drew her back.

  “I quarreled with my aunt. It was a silly thing.”

  “Over a gentleman?”

  He was perceptive. How had he almost guessed her secret?

  “Yes, in a way. He was unsuitable for me.” A stretch of the truth, but not too far from wrong. If ever a man had been unsuitable, it was Hiram.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “My aunt’s feelings were hurt because of all she’d done for me. She asked me to leave Charleston and go home.” She lifted the glass to her lips. “I did as she asked and settled on our plantation again, helping out as much as I could.

  “A few years later, my father died of apoplexy. It was very sudden, completely unexpected. He was a vigorous man to the end.”

  “My condolences again.” He reached for her hand once more, and this time, he stroked the inside of her wrist, making her pulse race and her body feel liquid and light, as if she might float away.

  “Why didn’t you stay on your plantation and run it?”

  “Because my father had mortgaged our plantation to start up the Exchange. I had to sell our place to pay off my father’s debts. I still have my shares in the Exchange, and in a few years, they might be worth something. Once I sold Riverbend and paid the debts, there wasn’t much cash left.”

  She hunched her shoulders, drawing into herself, wanting to banish the past. “My good friend Nancy, whose husband is a minister, welcomed me into her home. But I couldn’t remain living off their charity. I was considering teaching school when her husband showed me Mr. Murphy’s ad in the Texas Christian Advocate. His ad resonated with me.” She laughed at her idealistic dreams. “I thought I could start my life over.”

  She put her free hand on the table, palm up. “Now, you know why I came west. What do you think? Did I make a mistake, coming to this wild place?” She lowered her head. “I think I did make a mistake, as nothing has turned out as it should have.” She chewed on her lip again. “Nothing.”

  He rose and came to her, kneeling beside her chair, holding her hands in his. “Don’t say that, Mallory. If you’ve made a mistake, then I’m the most blessed man in the world to have known you.” He held her hands to his chest, letting her feel his galloping heart.

  “Mallory, the more I’ve come to know you, the more I admire you.” He dipped his head and cleared his throat again. “I know this might be unexpected… But you came west looking for a husband. I’m not as wealthy as E.P. was, but…”

  He hesitated and then lifted his head, gazing into her eyes. “Would you do me the honor of being my wife?”

  His unexpected proposal shook her, spiraling through her with the swiftness of a speeding arrow. His intentions were honorable, and she’d be a fool not to accept.

  But still, she hesitated, wondering if she should marry him. She’d told him that he knew everything, but it wasn’t true. And like a scaly, scary monster, her past haunted her.

  “I know you’re virginal and innocent. I’ve felt how you react when I touch you… And I understand.” He squeezed her hands. “Uh, we don’t have to be… that is… at first, our marriage could be for convenience’s sake. We’d make a family for Peggy, and you wouldn’t have to worry about returning to Georgia.”

  He pressed her hands between his. “If we grow to love each other, then later, we might have a real marriage. Even a family, if you want.”

  At his kind, kind words, and the affection he was offering, her throat burned. Unable to stop them, her tears flowed over, streaking her cheeks. She’d never heard such a lovely proposal before. Not that she’d heard many, but he’d given his heart into her safekeeping… a brave step for a man still grieving.

  That was why he’d been adamant to know more about her. Now, it all made sense. But of course, she hadn’t told him the most important thing. How could she? He’d trained as a minister, was an upright man. He’d even called her a virgin. How appalled would he be to learn she had a son?

  Even more, if theirs was a marriage of convenience, and they didn’t share a bed, how could she expect him to take in her son?

  No, she couldn’t marry him unless she told him the truth, and he accepted Macon. With her head full of brandy-induced cotton, and her fears newly aroused by the happenings around the fort, was she capable of making a rational decision?

  Probably not.

  She leaned forward and kissed him, a light kiss, barely touching her lips to his. She needed to express herself, to let him know how moved she was by his proposal.

  He kissed her back and tried to deepen their kiss, lingering. His mouth was warm and tender, their lips fitting together like two well-crafted couplets of a poem.

  As much as she wanted him to kiss her and hold her close, she couldn’t.

  Not now. Not yet. She had to think, to consider what to do.

  She splayed her hands on his muscular chest and leaned back. “Will, you honor me with your proposal. But this has been rather sudden. Can you give me time to think it over?”

  ***

  Mallory watched as four sergeants lifted the scenery backdrop, which featured a steam paddle wheeler. They nudged the set into place. The plywood scene showed the river steamer in all its glory with its wedding cake-like, white steamship, sporting a huge, many-spoked paddlewheel at the rear, and with wispy curls of smoke spouting from two tall stacks.

  It was hard to believe Peggy, with only minimum help from the other students, had painted the steamer with such loving care, as to make the ship look lifelike. The two final scenes of “Kit, The Arkansas Tr
aveler” took place on the river steamer, and it was one of the reasons Mallory had chosen the play.

  She hoped someday Peggy would have the joy of traveling on a real riverboat. And as if her thoughts had conjured her, Peggy ran up and tugged on her sleeve, saying, “Miss, can you fix my bonnet.”

  “Of course.” She leaned down and adjusted the girl’s bonnet, making certain her face was properly framed, and then tied the ribbon into a big bow. “There you go. It’s perfect.”

  “Thank you, Miss.” She scurried away to stand by the curtain.

  Jeb Hawkins, the lead character, who was playing Kit, motioned to her. They were trying to stay organized and quiet behind the makeshift curtain, but with six children in the play, along with Sally, Becky’s mother, and the sergeants who’d been pressed into helping backstage and doing the walk-on parts, she had her hands full.

  So far, the play had gone better than could be expected, especially after Becky had limped through her child’s part in the first act. They were getting ready for the next-to-last act, where Peggy was featured and the villain is unmasked. The final act would be a rousing fight scene between the villain, played by Thomas, and Jeb, who would finally dispatch the dastardly villain, fulfilling justice. Peggy would have a few more lines with her father, Jeb, as they were reunited.

  But first, Mallory had to be certain everyone was ready to go for the third act. She hurried over to Jeb and helped him pull on a fresh shirt and vest. Then she took him by the shoulders and said, “You’ve done a great job, Jeb. Chin up! You can do this, go out there and break a leg.”

  His eyebrows shot up.

  She chuckled and squeezed his shoulders. “Theater talk. It means get out there and knock them over! You’ve got them in the palm of your hand.”

  His mouth quirked into a smile. “Thank you, Miss Mallory.”

  She shoved him toward the curtain and held up one hand, counting noses to be certain all the actors were in place. Then she nodded to Sergeant Campbell, who hauled on the rope, drawing back the curtain.

  The audience exploded into applause, cat-calling, whistling and stomping their feet. All the fort, except for a small force, guarding the perimeter, had been given the holiday off, and the soldiers had come to see the play. Most of the townsfolk were here, too, along with a sprinkling of ranchers. Thankfully, no one from the Lazy M had shown up.

  She scanned the crowd. Off to one side, not sitting, but leaning against the wall was a stranger, someone she hadn’t seen before. He wore a red-checkered bandana, knotted at his throat, and had two Colts riding on his hips. Remembering what Will had said about the man running from him, an odd chill touched her.

  Shaking it off, she looked for Will. He was seated in the front row, but there was no way she could alert him. It would ruin the play, and the children had worked so hard. Instead, she caught his gaze and nodded, letting him know Peggy was ready for her big scene.

  He grinned and lifted the bouquet of wildflowers they’d picked that afternoon for Peggy. For a moment, the controlled mayhem of backstage receded, and she let her mind wander to a few hours ago.

  Will had taken the afternoon off, and he’d shown her the canyon where Limpia Creek came from. In this cooler mountain climate, the wildflowers from spring bloomed all summer long, a veritable rainbow of colors. Together, they’d picked burgundy-colored winecups, red and yellow firewheels, pink primroses, crimson-colored Mexican hats, and white day lilies—a cornucopia of vibrant color.

  She couldn’t wait for Will to present the bouquet to his daughter, who was playing the female lead. She wished she could have been with Will to watch the play, but it wasn’t possible, as she was in charge of her students and everything else.

  It was a good thing when she’d decided to distract Peggy with something fun, that when she was a student at Miss Prentiss' finishing school, she’d taken part in a play.

  Not being one of the “smart set” at the school, she’d only had a walk-on part, but the theatre had intrigued her and she’d helped backstage, learning everything she could.

  And tonight, she’d had plenty of help. Sally had lent her hand to everything from managing the children to mending broken seams or sagging hems. Becky’s mother, the butcher’s wife in town, had proved to be a no-nonsense, level-headed woman, eager to help her daughter play her part. With a firm hand and lots of love, she’d managed to coax her daughter through the first act.

  Now, it was Peggy’s turn. As close as she and Will’s daughter had become, the young girl was like her own child. She bowed her head, said a brief prayer, and held her breath.

  At her nod, Peggy flounced onto the stage and stopped short when she glimpsed Thomas, rigged as the villain, with a tall, black stovetop hat and a horsehair mustache that stuck out three inches from either side of his face.

  “You villain, you!” The audience hushed as Peggy pointed an accusing finger at Thomas and declaimed, “You villain! I know who you are.” She tossed her head. “You can’t fool me! You’re Sydney Snodgrass, the man who abducted me and my mother. Because of you, my sweet mother…”

  Mallory nodded, following Peggy’s speech from the script, amazed at her ringing recital of the lines. She exhaled and closed her eyes. All that practicing after supper had paid off. Peggy’s voice carried throughout the packed mess hall, her words clear and sharp.

  As quick as the flick of a horse’s tail, the third act was over. A riotous roll of applause greeted the drawing of the curtain.

  Peggy rushed to her, her eyes bright and a huge smile sweetening her face. She threw herself into Mallory’s arms. “I did it, Miss. I did it! I didn’t miss one line.” Peggy pointed at the script. “Did I?”

  Mallory swallowed the lump lodged in her throat and hugged the girl. “You were perfect, Peggy, picture perfect! I couldn’t have done half as good as you.” She leaned down and looked into Peggy’s eyes. “I’m so proud of you, so very proud.”

  Peggy lowered her head and blushed. “Aww, Miss, I couldn’t have done it without your help.” She lifted her face, her eyes suspiciously bright. “You know that, I hope. I can’t thank you enough—”

  “Let’s get some powder on your shiny nose. All right?” She released Peggy and rushed to the makeup stand in the corner, grabbing the powder puff. “You’ve still got the finale with Jeb, and we don’t want your nose to be shiny.”

  She knew she’d cut off Peggy, but when the girl clung to her like that, saying how she couldn’t have performed without her, Mallory understood how deep their relationship had become.

  It was another reminder of their closeness and the new life she’d found. Time was passing and with every day, she became more attached to Will and his daughter. But she’d yet to give Will an answer to his proposal.

  As much as she loved Peggy and cared for Will, she hadn’t told him her awful secret. Each time she thought she’d worked up her courage, she backed off. Will was an upright Christian man, a former seminary student. Would he… could he forgive her?

  And if he didn’t? Would it be so terrible?

  She’d need to leave the fort, of course, return to San Antonio and wire Nancy for her money. It wasn’t ideal, but it wasn’t the end of the world. In some ways, the thought of putting the dangerous frontier behind her was appealing.

  At least, Reverend Finley was doing better, hobbling around on crutches. He was seated in the front row with Will and eagerly awaiting word of his replacement.

  Could she turn her back on Will and Peggy? Would they be so easy to give up? They’d both earned a place in her heart and with Will as her husband, her life stretched before her, full of bright and shining days, filled with wildflowers and rainbows and…

  “Miss Mallory, Miss.” Someone tugged on her arm. “I can’t get this trick knife to work. I don’t want to stab Thomas for real.” Jeb chuckled.

  “Oh, no, I’m sorry. I was getting the powder puff for…” She turned and faced him. “Never mind. Let me see the knife.” She fum
bled with the sliding mechanism, which pushed the wooden blade into its sheath, making it appear as if the knife had buried itself into the victim’s body.

  “You’re right, Jeb. It doesn’t seem to be working.” She handed him the knife and turned him around, giving him a gentle push. “Tell Sergeant Campbell. He made the prop knives. I’m sure he can show you how to fix it. And please, hurry, we haven’t much time.”

  “Yes, Miss.” He sprinted across the stage to where Campbell stood by the curtain rope.

  She clutched the powder puff and returned to Peggy. “Let’s powder your nose.” She fluffed the powder over the girl’s freckled nose. Peggy loved wearing makeup, and she lifted her face up, smiling.

  “Do you know all your lines for the last act?”

  “Sure, Miss. The finale is a cinch. Now the hard part is over with.”

  She leaned down and hugged Peggy, thinking, there really wasn’t any going back. And she didn’t want to go back. She wanted to make a family with Will, Peggy, and… her son. She needed to quit dithering, tell Will the truth, and see how he reacted.

  “Good. I’m glad.” She released Peggy and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.

  “Are you crying, Miss? Why? The play’s going good and—”

  “Oh, no, no.” She shook her head. “Just something in my eye.” She sniffed. “Probably some of the loose powder.”

  “You want me to look in your eye for you?”

  “No, I want you to take your place for the next scene.”

  “Yes, Miss. Wish me luck.”

  She half-grinned. “Break a leg.”

  Peggy smiled and rushed off.

  Across the stage, she saw Jeb, working with his knife, making certain Sergeant Campbell had fixed it. He clicked it and the wooden blade slid out, then in, out and in, out and in… Mesmerizing.

  Across from him, armed with the same kind of prop knife, Thomas practiced his moves, too, thrusting and circling with the knife drawn.

  They were all having a wonderful time and here she was, sniffling and feeling sorry for herself. That wouldn’t do. She needed to face Will and tell him. Sooner rather than later. He’d been patient, very patient, but she couldn’t put him off forever.