by Caryl McAdoo
Where’d he go?
She jumped up and ran to the water closet, barely making the commode before vomit spewed from the depths of her gut. After, she felt minutely better. Coffee finally helped, especially after Caleb put a dash of his whiskey in it.
Three cups of Irish coffee—that’s what he called it—and the ache behind her eyes vanished. The side-wheeler slowed then jerked. “What’s that?”
“I don’t know. Let’s go see.”
Lanelle spotted the happy couple the instant they stepped out onto the third deck railing. Mary snuggled in tight, and he wrapped his arm around her. Made Lanelle want to vomit. She hated them both.
Caleb belonged to her since forever. In her earliest memories, he chased after John, and she ran after the both of them.
How many times had he told her he loved her? And how many times had he? Should have kept track.
She put those sour grapes away. He’d said it would be the same as always, except it wouldn’t. Not with the prissy princess hanging all over him all the time. An idea niggled its way forefront.
Miss Priss would get pregnant, wouldn’t do anything to stop it.
Lanelle gagged.
They must have seen her. Caleb pointed, then his child-bride took to waving both arms like she and Lanelle were friends or something. What few times she’d bothered to speak to the brat, she’d barely been civil.
After all, her daddy was like the king of Clarksville, owned more land, cattle, and cotton than all the rest put together. And even The Belle.
Money ran to money. That’s what Caleb claimed.
Dollars had to be the only reason he even gave Red River County’s princess a second look. Well, no one could deny Mary Rachael’s beauty. Had to give her that. All the Buckmeyer ladies were.
The steamboat neared, and Lanelle plastered on her best smile. She’d make nice just like Caleb wanted, for a while anyway. Then they’d all see. He’d be hers and all hers.
No matter what she had to do until then, he would surely belong to her. She let that thought slide all the way down to her belly then come back up as a real smile. She could play the part, same as he claimed he was.
Too soon they walked the gangplank holding hands. How quaint. And the idiot carried his grip and a set of fancy saddlebags draped over his shoulder looking like such a stupid dandy.
“Well, look at you two, the old married couple.” Lanelle pushed Caleb aside and hugged the princess.
Mary hugged her back, giggled, and beamed. “Yes, we are. Isn’t it wonderful?”
“Well, of course it is! Absolutely fabulous.” She faced her love. “Like you said, Mister Ballantine’s warehouse is right on the wharf.”
“Our goods arrive unscathed? No problems?”
“Yes, cuz. Stop your fretting. The liquid gold is safe and sound at Ballantine’s.”
She faced the child bride. “So, you hungry, sweetie? There’s this little place on Bourbon Street makes a great gumbo. I ate there last night, and first thing this morning, I wanted to go back.”
She held her arm out, Mary took it, and she strolled away with her new cousin.
He could come or not.
She didn’t care.
This was wonderful, Mary had always liked Lanelle, but Caleb’s cousin had hardly ever spoken to her. Guess the age difference didn’t matter now that she was grown—and kin. She loved being a Wheeler, had always liked the clan.
The two brothers coming to Red River County from Arkansas together made for good ancestral history.
Shame Caleb’s parents had to go back to help the grandmother and run his grandfather’s store. But…that’s what family did.
That truth pained her heart.
She hated how she’d treated hers, but she’d make it up to them, in two or three years when she and Caleb went home with pockets full of gold. And more stories to tell than May could pen in a lifetime.
All would be forgiven and forgotten, she just knew it. And Daddy would get over her leaving like she did.
For a few steps, she let her mind’s eye revel in the grand reunion, all the kisses and hugs.
But then an image of her own mother blotted out the rest—so distraught—telling how very sorry she’d been over hurting her father so much when she ran off with Rebecca’s father. How she vowed not to ever marry again without her daddy’s blessing.
Had she become her mother?
No, she would never wait ten years to tell Daddy why she’d done what she had, exactly where she was—as soon as she and Caleb settled, she’d write. These were different days with mail getting around much faster.
And the telegraph, it’d surely cross the Mississippi soon and go all the way to California. She could keep him and May right up to date after she and Caleb decided where to set up shop.
No, she was not her mother. She was not a widow.
“There it is.” Lanelle released her arm, stepped up on the wooden porch, and held her arm out as though she owned the place, like the proud proprietor of this not so grand café. It tickled Mary.
The gumbo proved tasty, but nothing like Mammy’s. Was there a better cook anywhere? Probably not, and too bad for everyone who’d never shimmied up and put their feet under her table.
And it so thrilled Mary that the cook and Chester had fallen in love and married. Remembering home, and the folks there, brought a smile.
From Bourbon Street, Lanelle led the way to Ballantine’s warehouse. The relief in Caleb’s eye when he spotted the three oak barrels tickled Mary even more. Maybe the stuff was sure enough liquid gold.
Thank the Lord it cured her headache.
Her new husband definitely did not have her horse-trading skills; that became all too clear after his first purchase. A case of shovels he paid too much for. She caught the glee in the man’s eyes when Caleb agreed to his terms.
Stepping up beside her husband, she looped her hand through his arm. Early on, she smiled and took over negotiations. “And, sir? What kind of deal would you make, say, if we buy two cases?”
“Deal? Oh there’s no better deal, not anywhere on the wharf. I’m giving you my best price, little lady.”
She faced her husband. “Sweetheart, if memory serves, I noticed two or three other warehouses we passed before we got here.” She turned to Mr. Ballantine. “We needed to stop by here first to check on our stock, of course.”
It disappointed her that Caleb didn’t pick right up on her plan. At least he nodded.
“But I’m certain you understand we need to find the highest quality products for the very best prices. Especially since we’ll be buying so much. And not just on this trip.” She smiled at Caleb then glanced back at the sweating Ballantine. “We’re needing to find an honest dealer we can trust.”
“Yes, ma’am, of course, but –”
“I believe you’re right, Darlin’.” Caleb finally caught on and played along.
“Well now, wait, wait. No reason to go anywhere else. Uh…” He loosened his shirt collar, running a finger around one side and stretched his neck like a turtle. “If you were to get two cases, I suppose I could sharpen my pencil some. A little.”
Back and forth the negotiations flew.
Threatening, teasing, and playing the same game her daddy was so good at. She loved it. Hands down, his horse trading skills were unsurpassed in the whole of Red River Valley. His expertise awed them all.
Everyone said it, called Henry Buckmeyer the best. But they’d never seen Mary Wheeler in action.
“Over here, you two. I’m thinking we ought to get some cloth and threads, don’t you agree?”
Mary followed the sound of Lanelle’s voice. Her new cousin nodded toward a long table with at least a hundred bolts of cloth.
“Oh yes! That’s a grand idea, and scissors and needles. Thimbles, too. And what’s that over there? Are those tents?”
A copper pressure pot caught Caleb’s eye. Sure would be nice to have a new one, but setting up a still wouldn’t be practical. He’d get
the lay of the land first before he got back into liquor making.
With all the stuff the ladies picked out to buy, appeared he’d not have time anyway for anything but loading and unloading. He strolled through to the end of the row. Now where had his horse-trading wife and old man Ballantine gone off to?
He looked both ways then took a left. A hand grabbed his arm and pulled him into a hollow space against a wall. Lanelle kissed him hard, and he kissed her back then put a finger on her lips.
“Be good.” His whisper came out louder than he intended.
“I’m always good, you brute. Want me to show you?”
Of course he wanted her to. He’d been wanting her most every minute for years now, but if she didn’t watch it, she’d spoil everything. “No. Leastwise not now. You need to behave yourself.”
“I need some money.”
He dug into his pants pocket and pulled out a silver dollar. “Here, now get and watch your conduct.”
She stuffed the coin in her skirt pocket then patted the saddlebags draped over his shoulder. “How about a couple of those little darlin’s?”
He glared a moment then pushed past her, needing to find his wife before she spent too much money. He located Mary and the old man on the far side of the building. Good. No way could she have heard anything.
As much as he hated the thought, he had to keep a distance between himself and Lanelle. Well, maybe not totally. But he had to be very careful.
California wouldn’t be far enough to keep him safe from the wrath of Henry Buckmeyer if stories got back that he’d been unfaithful to his precious little Mary Rachel less than a month into the marriage.
Not if all the tales he’d heard were true. And he had no reason to doubt their validity. He did not want to become number eleven. Kill him dead and feed him to the hogs if he hurt her—out of the man’s own mouth.
Caleb chuckled, a bit more reserved that initial time with his then soon-to-be wife around, but first chance the old man and the two Rangers got him off alone, they all laid the law down.
No doubt that any one of the three would do him in at the first sign of trouble.
Yes, sir, he was sure of that, and never in all his born days, would he do anything to intentionally hurt Henry Buckmeyer’s baby girl. Nope, no way, no how. But… what she didn’t know… Well, now, that couldn’t hurt her.
With his Lanelle being kin, no reason he couldn’t see her from time to time.
What single female cousin didn’t need some muscles or a bit of sage advice now and again? Yes, that’s right, and besides, he’d been thinking of something he wanted to tell her to do.
“What are you grinning about?”
Caleb caught himself. “You. You’re loving this, aren’t you? How much have you spent so far?”
She winked at him then ran her tongue over her top teeth while she looked off. She shrugged. “About seventeen hundred and forty or so. Final negotiations aren’t done yet.” She pushed him back a ways then leaned in close. “I’m going to get him to take less for me paying all in gold coin.”
The old man walked up shaking his head and held out a paper. “Got it all right here, seventeen hundred thirty-six dollars and forty-two cents.”
“Man, you were close enough, sweetness.” He smiled at the proprietor. Her head for math amazed him. “What else do we need? I’m thinking we best not spend too much more.”
“But don’t you figure we should carry some spices?”
“Didn’t you already get a hundred pounds of salt and half that much black pepper?”
“Indeed I did, but honey, those miners must get awful sick of plain beans. Bound to be a market, don’t you think?”
“Going to Californie, are you?”
“Baby, if you think we can sell ’em, by all means, buy some.” He faced the old man and nodded. “That’s right. Have a guess to how much weight we’ve got so far?”
“Probably getting close to five ton, another three, four hundred pounds at the most.”
“Books! Do you have any novels?”
“No, ma’am.”
“How about chalk and slate boards? Bound to be some families there with children who need to practice their letters and numbers.”
“I’ve got chalk, but no slate.”
“What about washboards and tubs?”
“Over here.” He led the way.
While his wife finished up, Caleb trailed behind.
Even with all the last minute purchases she added to the piles, she dickered the man down to fifteen hundred smooth in gold coin. With passage for the three of them and freight for the goods, he should still have plenty of cash once he reached San Francisco.
Hopefully, John hadn’t decided to sell out and try his hand at prospecting, or worse. But from everything he’d heard, his cousin was smarter than that. Besides, the man’s own letters claimed the real money hid out in tools and dry goods.
His last missive told of a recently finished new storefront with big plate glass windows he’d paid a pretty penny for.
Selling to the miners. That’s where the bucks were, not breaking your fool back trying to extract gold out of the ground. Who wanted to grub in the dirt all day long then sleep in a tent? Not him.
His cousin sashayed up next to him. Actually, everything he’d ever want or need was right here; his love and his wife’s money.
Chapter Three
Mary hated it all to blue blazes. Caleb kept telling her it would pass, but so far, that hadn’t happened. For three days now, she’d stayed in bed, except to rush to the little water closet.
He had been so wonderful, tender, thoughtful and not the least bit sick himself. She wanted to hate him and all others who weren’t, but how Christian could that be?
Not being seasick seemed plain unfair. And to hear him tell it, Lanelle suffered every bit as much, so he had two moaning women to deal with. Poor dear, probably a good thing the constant roll didn’t bother him.
He split his time between them, Lanelle down in steerage. Mary dare not venture a deck down. Tinged her heart a bit she didn’t pay the extra dollars for two first class rooms.
Reports were that her new cousin whom she loved, she and all the other kindred spirits who retched their guts out multiple times daily wouldn’t die. Could seasickness kill a person?
Oooooh, it certainly seemed to her death might provide sweet relief. She’d never puked so much in her life, and she hated it more than anything.
And, she was missing everything!
By evening of the fifth day, the last night on the steamer, right after the S.S. Philadelphia dropped anchor in the mouth of the Charges River, she’d managed to keep a bit of soup and hardtack down.
Very encouraging indeed.
The next morning proved rather pleasant, sitting in the shade of a cute grass-roofed cafe with a plate of delicious and unusual food.
While the ship’s mates and a gang of locals offloaded the cargo onto barges and outrigger canoes, she enjoyed eating fruit and melons by the tons. She’d never had such a variety of fruit at one time in her life and loved it.
They grew right on the trees, too, all sweet and juicy. Got sticky all over her face and hair and hands, a good sticky though.
“How many more days?’
Caleb, who stood watching, turned his attention from the shirtless brown-skinned stevedores. “What did you ask, Baby?”
“How much longer?”
“The captain said another couple of hours, then we’ll head up river.”
“No, I mean before we get to California. How many days?”
“Three across the isthmus, then fifteen more to San Francisco, if we don’t stop.”
“Good.” She joined him, watched a minute. “Can you believe how warm it is? To think it’s still winter back home. Shame Lanelle’s missing all this.”
“I’ll take her a plate later. It’s warmer because we’re closer to the equator, less distance to the sun.”
“Interesting.” Bumping he
r shoulder against his, she grinned. “Did you get us a room?”
“No. We’ll only be here a few hours. I didn’t think –”
Comprehension fell like a soft rain on his handsome head and the light came on in his eyes. She traced his cheek with her finger. “A nap might be in order, if you were to be so kind as to rent us one.”
He nodded then grinned real big. “A nap would be rather nice.” He slipped his hand into hers. “Yes, ma’am, best idea you’ve had in a while.”
“What about your cousin?”
“What cousin?”
Up river, the barges got offloaded onto wagons then on the Pacific side, stowed in the belly of the S.S. Antelope, another of the U.S. Mail S.S. Company steamers. Nice someone had worked all this out.
From what she’d heard, sailing around the horn was horrible—gale force winds, whatever those were, always cold, icebergs to dodge. No. Cutting across the isthmus created a much appreciated short cut.
Not to mention the time saved. Mary really liked short cuts. New Orleans to San Francisco in less than a month. She never could have imagined everything she’d seen or that they’d get there so quickly. Wonderful, absolutely marvelous.
She loved her new life.
The Pacific even smelled different and seemed bluer, definitely smoother, too. The Antelope didn’t heave and throw like the Philadelphia in the Gulf of Mexico. She loved it, no sea sickness, decent food, arm in arm strolls round the foredeck, playing cards with Lanelle who recovered more every day.
Best of all though, not a lot to do other than spend time with the best man she’d ever known—maybe short of her daddy, but certainly a close contender. Love was so grand; the adventure so intoxicating.
She could hardly wait to get to San Francisco, and thoughts on how to set up the business and increase profits filled her spare time.
On the morning of the fifteenth day, after setting sail from Panama City, the Antelope dropped its anchor in the Bay of San Francisco within a forest of other ships. Shortly, skiffs arrived to offload the passengers.
The cargo might have to wait a week or better, or so the captain announced with a shrug.