by Caryl McAdoo
How could he think Mary was any better? She’d given it away and got pregnant for her gift. Even now, would she run to Edward if he were to walk through the dining room door?
Hadn’t that been what she’d hoped for in her heart of hearts all along?
That he’d show up and save her from Jethro?
Edward never would, that was for sure and for certain. A liar and adulterer. Who wanted him? She needed to think. Where was Francy when she needed her? She hugged herself. “I best check on our little ladies.”
He stood and extended his hand. “Of course, I’ll arrange our dinner in the room if you like. Half hour? Will that be enough time?”
“Should be, yes. See you in our sitting room then.” She put her hand into his, and he pulled her to her feet, but held on.
“I love you.”
She nodded, but didn’t say anything, only stared into his eyes. He opened wide the windows of his soul to her.
He spoke the truth. He did love her.
But would it be enough?
Jethro made the arrangements for the noonday repast, then waited in the hall until the server brought the cart. At exactly the prescribed time, he tapped on her door.
Francy opened it wide enough to stick out her head. She tried to keep a straight face but couldn’t contain her smile totally. “Yes, sir, may I help you?”
He chuckled. “Anyone in there hungry?”
From further inside came Mary’s voice. “I am. Kiss your way in if you have to.”
“Yes, Daddy, kiss me.” Francy closed her eyes and puckered.
He gave her a big smack on her forehead then grabbed her up and threw her over his shoulder like a sack of oats. Balancing the wiggling little varmint, he pulled the cart inside. She giggled. Mary laughed.
Even the baby seemed to catch her big sister’s mirth. Susie smiled and squealed and gasped.
He loved it. Someday, Lord willing, it would be his own babies, except these definitely were already his. God gave them to him. Well, at least they would be as soon as Henry Buckmeyer gave his blessing.
Oh, Lord, soften the man’s heart.
After the meal—a nice grilled ocean perch with a walnut salad and preserved peaches—he and Mary took turns reading.
Her new mother was quite the novelist. He was impressed. Francy volunteered to lie down with her little sis, as though Mary had suggested it this time. Pleased him, but he didn’t want to continue the Clinton conversation.
Trouble plagued him enough over the man without her talking about him. Could she possibly still love the cheat? Love. What did she even know of love? Twice now, she’d been deceived, even though she was so smart.
Maybe her problem fell in trusting her heart. So soon after she lost Caleb, that cad seduced her, and now here Jethro was spouting his love.
He had to convince her. Rescuing her and her baby—both her babies—should be enough, but he’d do whatever it took. Many would say he and Moses sure chose a couple of doozies. He grinned.
His choice though, the unbelievably beautiful and smart and hard-headed one, would make him the happiest man in the world, if only she’d believe him.
He’d never give up.
One day, no matter how long it took, she’d love him like he loved her.
The ten-year-old closed the sitting room door. Had that been prearranged too? Mary smoothed her dress then faced him. “I believe our oldest is conspiring against us.”
He had to laugh. “What now?”
“Earlier, while I fed the baby, she told me our bed was just too crowded, that I should bunk with you and give her and Susannah some room.”
He tried to stifle the belly laugh, but couldn’t completely. “I’m good with that; steam boat captains can marry folks, same as ministers.”
“No, we’ll wait, but I do like how you think.”
He agreed, then nodded toward the closed door. “Did you put Francy up to this?”
“No, sir, not at all. Just more of her plotting and planning. I can’t imagine what that girl is going to be like in five years.”
“I can. A lot like you, maybe some like me, but bless God, we got her before someone else found out she wasn’t a boy named Shorty.”
“Amen.” She leaned forward and took his hand. “Thank you, Jethro. I want you to know, no matter what, I’ll make you a good wife, be a good mother to your children. Speaking of little ones, how many might you be wanting past these three God’s already plunked into your lap?”
A warmth spread from her fingers to his heart. He wanted to pull her to him, smother her with kisses, carry her across the hall to his bed, but he’d waited this long. It had to be right, get her father’s blessing. He leaned back. “However many He wants to give us.”
She put her hands in her lap then threw him a quizzical grin. “Tell me, I’ve been wondering. How did you and Moses Jones become partners?”
“After my father lost it all, I went to the docks, day labor. Back-breaking work, but paid good. I’d been noticing this big Irishman for about a month, usually the first guy hired of a morning. He toiled so hard and was so strong, but what I noticed most of all… His character…it impressed me. Never knew such a man. Purely good, he was. Carried his Bible every day and read it at every break.”
“But you weren’t even a Christian then, right?”
“That’s correct. He told me later he hadn’t paid much attention to me or anyone, said he’s just trying to make a living. Then this one idiot started coming to the docks. For some reason the guy took a dislike to Moses. Probably hated it that if anyone got work, it’d be Jones.
“One morning, we were sitting around. None of the bosses had showed up yet, and idiot man took to running his mouth at Moses. He ignored him, but I had about all I could take. So I started in on him, using words he probably didn’t have a clue what they meant. Guess he figured out I insulted his parentage.
“Next thing I know, he’s got me down, flaying my head. Moses stopped the fight, and we’ve been buddies ever since. Then when I saved enough to buy my teams of mules, I asked him to go in partners with me. We went to work on the Erie Canal, hauling freight. That’s how we made enough to come west.”
“How old were you two then?”
“I was eighteen, and he was twenty-one.”
“And now?”
“Thirty-one, but thirty-two by the time we get to Texas.”
“Oh, you have a birthday! When is it?”
“The twenty-second, but don’t go and make a big deal of it. And you are…?”
“Almost twenty-one.”
Tickled him somewhat that she was still wanting to be older. Instead of ‘I’m twenty,’ she wanted to add the extra year as though he couldn’t do the math.
“What are you grinning about?”
“Nothing worth mentioning. Tell me more about your father.”
She studied him a moment then must have decided against pressing him over what had tickled him. For the next quarter hour, she told him about Henry Buckmeyer. How the man had traded his way to vast wealth.
Well, that and a lot of hard work. Most didn’t want to do what it took to gather, clean, and double-wash bois d’arc seeds, then haul them to St. Louis.
Henry did it though, until the market played out. And who would’ve thought to buy every headright—strange name for land grants—he could get his hands on? What foresight. Mary certainly fell close to the tree.
But from all she said, the man’s generosity made him rich. How many times had Moses told him, you can’t out give God, partner.
Quite evident she loved her daddy very much. That he’d not returned her letter, written back to her, broke her heart. She used stubborn and all its derivatives, coupled with pride, more than a few times in her narrative.
It just didn’t add up though. The man she described would have gone to the four corners of the world for his firstborn.
And that’s what she was, even if Mary claimed his adopted daughter Rebecca was Mister Henry’s fa
vorite. Then again, he could understand that. Would Francy always be his favorite?
“My second sister, CeCe—short for Cecelia—saved his and Levi’s life.”
Why hadn’t he been paying better attention? He replayed the last of her story, but couldn’t piece the puzzle together. At least he’d heard the last sentence. “How’s that?”
“Mama was big and pregnant, and Levi was about to bust a gut to get in the war, but Daddy wouldn’t leave her. They would have been at the Alamo otherwise. Instead, they waited for her to deliver, and after everything was fine, they joined up with Houston. That’s also when Levi met Wallace Rusk. So CeCe coming late saved Daddy’s and Levi’s lives.”
“Mary, have you ever considered that maybe your father didn’t get your letter?”
She raised one shoulder slightly. “I’ve got another one started, but how do you put what’s happened to me in a letter? It’s all so horrible. Daddy, you were right, Caleb Wheeler was….” She smiled. “Lanelle says we shouldn’t speak evil of our dead. But we both know now. Daddy probably knew then what kind of man—except he called him a boy.
“Anyway, then John asked me to marry him. When I say no, he sells out to you and Moses, and then…well….” She rubbed her tummy. “So how can I put all that in a letter? If he didn’t hate me before, he will now for sure.”
“No, Mary Rachel. How can you say that?” He chuckled. “He’s your father, and he loves you. The man you’ve been describing… He’ll welcome you with open arms. My only concern is how he’ll see me.”
“I think he’ll like you. And once I tell him about the baby, he’ll agree with our plan.”
Jethro hoped so; he couldn’t bear the thought of losing her—or Francy.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Panama City had grown, but unlike the last time Mary crossed the isthmus, only she and Jethro and the girls, no freight to see to. The stage took a day, a rough one at that, but nothing like the dread that the looming trip across the Gulf of Mexico held. Then to her surprise, the trip proved smooth sailing, no retching her guts out, nothing like in ’51.
Had Caleb talked her into being seasick, so he could spend time with Lanelle? She put that thought away. Whether from being pregnant or tossed about, it made no never mind now. Not anymore. She loved her cousin, and refused to hate Susannah’s father.
New Orleans and its special frantic pulse, alluring and contagious, came into view only five easy days later. But Clarksville loomed too close for the port to pull her into its excitement. Henry Buckmeyer. Only six days away. Five up the Big Muddy to Jefferson, then another on the stage to home.
Did her daddy still own the Belle? He’d talked of selling it.
And was the Gateway to Texas still home?
Could be she’d become a vagabond, doomed to wander like Cain. She had ties to San Francisco, but with… She rubbed her belly. Would anyone dare to put a Scarlet Letter on her chest like Hawthorne’s heroine?
Or might she bear a mark like Adam’s oldest?
Once, she thought California would be her new home, but now she didn’t know. Wouldn’t even dare at that point to say she’d ever even see it again. Feel the cool breeze blow in off the ocean again. Do battle with some miner over his bill, then weigh out her hard-won dust. Did she want to go back?
What would Jethro think? How would she react the first time Edward came around or saw his baby? That couldn’t, wouldn’t happen.
The steamer’s wheel twirled backwards harder as it neared the dock. Jethro slipped his hand into hers. “Do you know a good hotel?”
“There’s several, but let’s see if we can book passage on to Jefferson. I’d rather press on if we can.”
He leaned in close. “Let’s stay a day or two. Do some shopping.”
“Why? Is there something you need?”
He squeezed her hand, then glanced at her midsection. “Maybe some new dresses for you and Francy.”
She nodded, her old ones had been fitting a bit tight of late, best not to advertise her condition to the whole Red River Valley. Then a horrible thought smacked her heart. Gwendolyn could never know about Edward. She loved her sister, but not her or Cecelia or Bonnie. No bad example, but most, they could not keep a secret!
No telling who they might share with. That’s all she needed; one of them to let it out that Mary Rachel came home all big and pregnant by some strange man. No one’s business, actually. Maybe she and Jethro should….
No. She really wanted her daddy’s blessing this time. Before she wed, not after the fact. What could he say but yes, though. What if he said no?
Easing closer to Jethro, she stood shoulder to shoulder watching the wharf’s activities.
Her musings brought reminders of the stories her mother told. How nervous she’d been about seeing Grandfather after ten years; what he’d say to Daddy; even if he was still alive. Oh, God. She hadn’t even thought of that. Her heart beat faster and harder.
What would she do if… No. That wasn’t possible. She would not even entertain the thought.
If only her story could end as well as Mama’s.
“You just swallow a bug?”
She looked at her soon-to-be husband. “No, why do you ask?”
He gave her his little boy semi-grin smirk. “That sour face. That’s what it looked like to me.”
“I’m sorry.” She pulled the girls closer and hugged them with her free hand. “Just thinking about home.”
What would her hometown hold? Or rather, five miles south as the crow flew from Clarksville proper. Jethro had been doing a lot of thinking on that topic himself.
More than the three-story mansion she had painted such a vivid picture of, he would know the place anywhere. Not even with her reassurances, could he swallow his apprehension of meeting the man.
In his mind, Mister Henry Buckmeyer looked as big as the Lone Star State. Folks wanted him to stand for office. The last governor himself had showed up and wanted to know Buckmeyer’s intentions before he committed to running for a second term. Then promising to back Mister Henry at the end of his term if he wanted.
Had he ever known a man like Mary’s father? Once, his own had been a titan of commerce, but his flaws brought him down, hard and fast. To hear Mary tell it, her father sounded like a living saint.
What kind of man bought slaves to free them? One who’d also killed ten men. Jethro ran a finger under his collar.
Saints didn’t do that.
Mary’s laughing drew his attention. She pointed at him. “So, did you swallow a bug?”
Grinning, he remembered that each and every killing proved completely justifiable—at least according to his firstborn. “No, ma’am, just a little thinking of my own.” He lifted her hand and threaded his arm through hers, setting it back down atop his.
Still, the men lay dead in their graves all the same because they crossed Henry’s path.
Then, to make things worse, she had told him about Levi Baylor and Wallace Rusk. They didn’t keep track of their body count any longer, or so they said. Had all of them been just as right about Caleb Wheeler?
Would they see him as an interloper wanting to wed their poor widowed sister; put him six feet down for good measure?
Even with misgivings and the extra day in New Orleans, he found himself in Clarksville, Texas, resting not so comfortably in the Donoho Hotel a mere seven days later. His love’s hand so close, yet out of reach.
After a brief discussion, she’d insisted on spending the night there, and hiring a buggy fresh in the morning. He’d been easy to convince.
She scurried like a bunny up the stairs and waited around the corner for him to bring the key. Francy worked with Susie, walking behind her, holding both hands, determined to teach her to climb stairs.
That night while he tried to find sleep all alone, across the hall again from the females he loved more than life, he rehearsed what he would say.
After a half-dozen failed starts and too many futile attempts piled high in th
e corner of his mind, a scripture in Matthew came to mind. He rolled out of bed, lit the lamp, and found the passage. Reading the verses aloud, he kept repeating the words until they settled in his heart.
…Take no thought how or what ye shall speak: for it shall be given you in that same hour what ye shall speak. For it is not ye that speak, but the Spirit of your Father which speaketh in you.
Not exactly but proved close enough to calm his troubled soul. No need to worry. God would give him the right words at the right time. He just hoped the Lord knew the man would surely be worse than an inquisitor.
Jethro slipped back into bed and before he could repeat the scripture again, he slept.
The sun’s rays warm and bright on Mary’s face opened her eyes. Or could it have been Susannah’s rooting that woke her? She settled the baby at her breast then smiled—until she realized.
It was tomorrow.
Today—the day—had arrived. Her heartbeat sped up with each thought of seeing her family. Her little sisters, Mammy and Chester, Rebecca and Wallace. They could already have a baby themselves. Wouldn’t that be fun?
Jean Paul and Laura… Had he got up the courage to marry her yet? Two years. Mary had been gone a long time. And all the little boys, brother Houston and cousins Charlie and Bart. How old would they… She gasped. The little wild man Charlie would be thirteen, getting to be a man, and her little brother: nine. Wow.
And Mama May. Mary had been the first to fall in love with the novelist. Working with her, transposing her stories had been like a dream. After not having a mother for six years, losing her at the tender age of eleven, Mary found it easy, confiding in May, asking her questions—a very special lady indeed.
She missed her.
Reading through all her books again had helped some though. The east coast newspapers had followed THE GRANGER’s success, sold out its first edition before they’d even returned from Europe.