by Tracey Cross
He smiled. “If you go, who is going to be mammy to my children?”
Watching the exchange between them, Jane knew he had said the right thing. This woman had been with Trent his whole life. She knew he wasn’t kind or good, but she loved him dearly all the same. The way a mother loves a child. If he were going to have children, she wasn’t about to trust their raising to anyone but herself.
“Well, I ain’t heard Miss Jane say she’s gwine marry you anyway.”
“Mam,” Jane said, without responding to the last statement, “we’re going down to the stable to watch Danny ride his pony. Would you like to come with us?”
Pleasure flashed across her face. “I’d surely love to, Miss Jane.”
Trent strode back and extended his hand to help her negotiate the steps.
She glanced at Trent and scowled. “You best give ol’ Mam that baby b’fore you drop him on his little head—and b’fore he even gets a name.”
A chuckle rumbled in Trent’s chest. “Here you go. Take good care of my boy. And please help his mother name him so we can stop calling him Boy, or Baby.” He kissed Mam’s wrinkled cheek and told Jane, “I will leave you in Mam’s capable hands while I go on ahead and see that Danny’s ready to show off his new skills.”
They watched him walk away. Mam looked down at the sleeping baby’s face. She smiled, tenderness shining from her brown eyes. “I’s partial to the name Solomon.”
Jane smiled. “Trent’s already tried that one. I know he has a store with that name in Sidney, but I can’t figure out why.”
“That’s for Mastah Trent to say.”
“And he’s already told me it’s none of my affair.”
Mam held the baby close to her breast, cradling him like a nursing mother. “Maybe I tell you.” She let out a sigh and shook her head. “I’ll leave it for another time.”
“Mam?” Jane asked. “What makes a man become such a monster?”
“Oh, honey, he ain’t no monster. He just gots the devil tuggin’ on one side and goodness tuggin’ on the other.”
“Well, the goodness doesn’t win very often.”
“That be a sadness I can’t rightly figure. His pa be a kind mastah. Died of dysentery durin’ the war. Went to fight at the very end when all the young men be dead or wounded. They was askin’ for all them too old and them too young.”
“And what about his mother?”
“His ma, well, she died when Mistah was just a itty baby. He don’t even remember.”
“That’s too bad.”
“What about you? You got folks somewheres?”
“Not really.” Jane shrugged. “I was orphaned and taken in by a strict woman who made me work a lot even as a child. I called her Mama Rose because it was expected, but never really felt as though she was my ma. Danny and the baby are my only family.”
They reached the stable yard. Trent turned and grinned. He beckoned them to stand next to the wooden fence where he stood, resting his arms across the top of the fence and watching while Danny proudly rode astride. The trainer led the horse by a rope while Danny held the reins.
“He looks good up there, doesn’t he?” Trent said proudly. “One of these days he’ll race at the Kentucky Derby.”
“Is that what Danny wants?” Jane asked with raised eyebrows. “I’ve never heard him say so. Although I know he adores Sioux.”
“Well, we haven’t brought it up yet. But if he goes on like he’s doing, he’s going to be a mighty fine horseman someday. It would be a shame to waste it.”
Jane shook her head and laughed. But the sound was hollow even to her own ears. How could he be planning her son’s future as though she had already agreed to marrying him? Did he assume so much that he couldn’t fathom the possibility she might say no?
She planned to be home, on her homestead with both of her children, soon. It was a distant dream—but each day she sent up a silent prayer that God would come on His eagle’s wings and take her and the children away from here. If God would grant her the prayer of her heart, she would go home. She only prayed that Trent would allow her to go and take Jenny with her. She wondered if Molly still planned to come with them. She hadn’t seen her friend, except for brief glances across the street toward the saloon, for two weeks.
She wondered whether Molly was taking care of Jenny. She knew the answer. Of course Molly would. She must see herself in the little girl. That Jenny had Molly looking after her was the only ray of hope that kept Jane from total despair when her thoughts drifted to the girl.
Trent nudged her from her thoughts. “Watch—he’s about to take his first jump.”
“Is he ready for that? He’s awfully little.”
“I was jumping when I was his age.”
“Mistah Trent, now you tell the truth.”
Trent rolled his eyes. “Mam, when are you going to learn to keep your mouth shut?”
Giving a huff, she shook her head. “Too ol’ to start doin’ that now.”
“Watch, Ma! I’m gonna jump!”
“Trent, I think it’s too early for him to be jumping.”
“It’s too late to stop him now.” Trent chuckled.
Danny had already taken his first jump over a low measuring bar. Relief flooded over Jane. The jump was nothing but a stick almost as low as the ground itself.
“Did you see that, Uncle Trent? I jumped over it, and I wasn’t scared.”
“Wonderful, Danny. I think that calls for a special celebration. How about if you get to stay up and eat with your mother and me in the dining room tonight, and I’ll have Cook bake a cake to celebrate your victory?” He paused for a second to let the boy process the enormity of dinner with his mother and Trent. Then he continued, “And I think it’s time that a valuable chief like you get a war bonnet.”
Danny whooped.
“Careful, Danny, honey,” Jane called. “You’ll spook Sioux.”
“I won’t spook Sioux. He’s a warrior. He’s not scared of anything.”
On the way back to the house, Trent took her hand, lacing his fingers with hers. “Are you feeling up to having dinner in the dining room? I suppose I should have made sure before asking the boy for a celebration dinner.”
“Of course I’ll be at the dinner. But you’ll spoil him, Trent.”
“Nonsense.”
But it wasn’t nonsense. Not to Jane. She never wanted to raise her sons to feel entitled. She wanted them to work for their land, for their rewards. “Don’t you see,” she told Trent, “if you reward him for all the small things, he’ll never learn to reach for anything better. He’ll expect to be rewarded. Or, at the very least, let the reward fit the accomplishment.”
“And what, pray tell, is a fitting reward for the boy’s first jump?”
“Certainly not a celebration dinner and a war bonnet.”
He pulled her into his arms and bent to kiss her, but she turned her head, and his mouth landed on her cheek. He frowned but didn’t belabor the issue. Instead he lifted his hand and rested it on Danny’s shoulder. “Don’t be silly. The boy is not even six years old and is smart enough and steady enough to jump. This deserves a celebration. Come on, Danny, let’s see if the beans are ready to be pulled. If they are, maybe cook will boil them with a slab of bacon.”
That was Danny’s favorite, Jane knew—and so did Trent. She shook her head. “There’s simply no point in trying to make you understand.”
Perhaps he couldn’t understand that sometimes one did things for the simple joy of doing them, and that joy was its own reward.
A valley lay between Trent’s values and hers. Jane couldn’t bear the thought of him sullying the simple goodness of her son, the simple pleasure that a hawk’s feather and a bandana had brought him back at the homestead. She watched him walking next to Trent, both striding forward confidently as though they owned the world.
Her shoulders squared, and she lifted her chin toward the sky for support. She would not allow her son to grow up mimicking that man. For th
e first time, she considered how far she was willing to go to escape. And in a flash, she knew. If she had to kill Trent to get away, then she’d kill him.
Chapter Sixteen
Early September
Franklin’s ribs were finally beginning to heal, and he was getting sick of being in bed. Without a doctor in town he could trust, he’d allowed Cheng to bring him a doctor from the Chinese community. He’d brought herbs, opium for the pain, and worked with gentle, deft hands, wrapping up Franklin’s ribs.
The doctor had given Cheng strict instructions to keep Franklin confined to bed for at least two weeks. His injuries were severe. The blows to the head had taken a toll, and he had suffered a few days of memory fluctuations that, thankfully, had cleared up. But when he’d come to on the fourth day after his beating, Jenny and Jane weighed on him so heavily and with such a sense of urgency that he’d tried to get out of bed—until he realized it wasn’t possible.
But Cheng had kept in touch with Andy, and Andy assured them that Jane was well at the house, and Molly was taking care of Jenny at the saloon. Rumor had it that Bedlow had threatened to shoot any man who came near Jenny or so much as asked her price.
So they had a short respite while Trent was running high on familial goodness. Clearly having Jane and her two children at his house had started him thinking like a family man. Franklin was grateful for that, for Jenny’s sake, but he feared for Jane. He couldn’t help but wonder how long she had before Bedlow would make demands that, if not fulfilled, would cause trouble for Jenny.
Franklin was already on edge by the time Cheng brought in his breakfast tray. And its contents didn’t improve his foul mood. The tray held two eggs, two biscuits, and an orange.
“Cheng,” he groused, “you know I hate oranges. How many times I got to tell you, they make my tongue itch? And what about gravy? Don’t Chinamen know how to make gravy?”
“Fruit better. Make strong. Gravy. Bah. No good.”
“Seems to me a man oughta be able to choose his own breakfast.”
“You get well. You pick breakfast. You still sick. Cheng pick.”
Cheng set his Bible on the table next to Franklin’s bed and went about tidying up the room while Franklin ate. And just to get on the cook’s nerves, Franklin ate as slowly as possible. Cheng kept turning to stare at him.
Finally, Franklin decided the cook had been punished enough. He laughed and set the tray aside. “All right. Bring it here.”
Every day since he had been able to sit up and remain lucid, he had been true to his promise to Cheng that he would read the Bible to him since he couldn’t read English and didn’t own a Chinese Bible.
“Where are we today?”
“We read Luke.”
“We read Luke yesterday.”
“Luke.”
Luke was Cheng’s favorite account of the gospel. Franklin didn’t know why. His had always been John. But this was the third day in a row Cheng had asked him to read Luke.
So he began reading—again—until Cheng interrupted.
“I don’t know,” Cheng said, his frown one of confusion, of frustration.
“What do you mean, you don’t know? You mean you don’t understand?”
Nodding, Cheng pointed to the Bible. “You read again.”
Only because the servant had been so faithful and such a good friend did Franklin do as he asked. He read the passage again, then he started to explain. “The young man was spoiled and dissatisfied with working for his father and waiting for his inheritance. He wanted the good life. So his dad gave him everything, and he went out and squandered it by living in a town very much like Deadwood, I’d guess.”
Cheng nodded.
“But when the young man ran out of money and became so desperate that he even fought pigs for their food, he went home. Because, he thought, even the servants in my father’s house are living better than I am. So he went home, and his father welcomed him back.”
“Why?” Cheng asked.
“It’s like this, Cheng. Jesus was telling this story to try to get the people to understand something about God’s nature. In other words, how God is on the inside. In his heart.”
“This story? Not true?” Cheng’s face fell.
“The Bible itself is true. And it’s true so far as Jesus told the story, but it was for a reason. He wanted the people to see that God forgives sin. No matter how far you go or how horrible you’ve been, God will always forgive.”
If he hadn’t known better, he’d have thought Cheng set him up by making him explain the story of the Prodigal Son like that. But the cook didn’t understand enough English to try to be duplicitous.
Cheng sat in silence, then finally nodded. “O-kay. We read different now.”
Thirty minutes later they were finally on to the Gospel of John.
The door opened. Franklin glanced up and saw his brother, Coop, filling the doorway with his six-foot, two-inch frame.
Coop’s laughter practically shook the room. “Look at you, Big Brother. Reading the Bible and telling it like it is. When did you start preaching again, Frank?”
“I’m not. When did you get here? And why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”
Coop stayed in the doorway, grinning. “Oh, we decided to make it a surprise.”
“We?”
“Me and my bride.” Coop took one step into the room.
Frank grinned back. “Who in the world did you find dumb or desperate enough to marry the likes of you?”
“I like that!” Bess peeked around the corner with her hand over her eyes.
“Bess! I knew it would be you.”
Her hands were still on her eyes. “Are you decent?”
“I’m covered up. Get in here, you two, and tell me how this happened.”
Cheng stood and took the Bible from Franklin.
Bess shook her head. “Don’t stop on our account. You have no idea how long I’ve waited for you to preach again.”
“I’m not exactly preaching. Just helping him understand what we’re reading.”
Coop laughed. “The way I see it, that’s preaching.”
“Cheng,” Franklin said, “I want you to meet my brother, Cooper. And this beautiful woman, Bess, who is much too good for him, is apparently now his wife.” Franklin turned to Coop and Bess. “This is Shen Cheng. He and his wife, Mai, and his brother, Shen Chao, work for me here.”
Coop reached out his hand, and Cheng took it. He bowed to Bess. “Lovely woman. I send Mai. Take care of you. Bath. Tea. Massage.”
Bess shook her head. “Oh, please don’t go to any trouble.”
“No trouble. No trouble. Mai come. Soon.” He motioned to the blue and gold settee. “Both sit.”
Franklin eyed Bess. “Don’t bother arguing. Cheng runs the place. What he says goes.”
“Well, all right then. But only at her convenience.”
“Cheng,” Franklin said, “can I trouble you for a special meal tonight in honor of this visit and the occasion?”
“Yes. Good meal. I make special.” His face beamed. “Good family. Brother. Sister. Good.”
He left so happy, Franklin thought the loyal friend might burst into tears on his way back to the kitchen.
Focusing his attention back on the newlyweds, Franklin shook his head. “How did this happen?” he demanded.
Bess tossed back her head and laughed. “I told you I was waiting for my husband to catch me.”
Coop slung his arm along the back of the settee. “And I tried for years.”
“But he didn’t love the Lord like I do, so I never gave him a second glance.”
“You did too.” Cooper touched her cheek with his knuckles, and Bess ducked her head.
“Well, I guess I did look, but not so as to encourage you.”
Coop cradled her shoulder and pulled her closer to him on the settee. “A revival minister came through Sidney awhile back, and Uncle Nathan nagged me until I decided to go. I felt something I never had before.” He met Fr
anklin’s gaze directly. “You know, I never felt nothing about church—even when Ma tried to make us go.”
Franklin nodded. “Yes.”
“Anyway, I figured if God could love me enough to make me feel sorry for some of the things I’ve done, He must be real, as you used to say He is.”
Bess chuckled. “Then he came straight to me and proposed the next day.”
“And she turned me down.”
She looked deep into his eyes. “Only because I wanted to be sure it was real before I gave myself over to a man.”
His gaze never left her face. Franklin was starting to get uncomfortable in the middle of the love and attraction between the two. “She made me wait a month, then finally gave in. We got married the next day. This is our honeymoon.”
“Deadwood for a honeymoon?”
Bess nodded. “That’s what Coop said. But I wanted to see you—and to check on Jane too. The last I heard you were worried about her working in the saloon for Bedlow. That rotten snake.”
“He’s worse than a rotten snake.” Franklin’s body grew tense, and his ribs began to ache.
“What happened?” Bess asked. “Has something happened to Jane?”
Franklin told them everything.
“How can you sit there in bed when Jane’s being held prisoner at Bedlow’s? I wouldn’t let a woman I loved—”
Bess pinched the back of Cooper’s hand. “Settle down. Look at your brother. Do you think he’s just lying in bed because he’s lazy? He went after Jane or Jenny or both and got himself nearly killed in the process.”
Franklin finished the story with the details of his attempt to take Jenny from the saloon.
“They ganged up three to one?” Coop nearly exploded with anger. He jumped to his feet. “I’m going after that little girl, and then I’m going after Jane Albright.”
Bess tugged on his sleeve. “Cooper Lloyd, you sit yourself right back down. I am not about to become a widow before I even have the honor of motherhood. Be rational.”
“Women,” he growled.
“Men! You’d all be dead of stupidity if not for women.”