Last Cavaliers Trilogy

by Gilbert, Morris

  When he was comfortable, he asked, “What is your name, child?”

  “Chantel Fortier,” she answered, spooning up soup into the ever-useful tin cup.

  “That’s a French name.”

  “Yes, ma mere gave it to me. Chantel means song.”

  “Yes, I know. It’s a very pretty name. It’s very nice to meet you, Miss Fortier. My name is Jacob Steiner.”

  “How long since you ate, Mr. Steiner?”

  “Two days, I think.” He passed a trembling hand over his forehead.

  Chantel said firmly, “I better feed you.” She dipped the spoon in the broth, tasted it first, and then blew on it. “Ver’ hot, too hot. I blow it for you, me.” She blew on the spoon, tasted it again, and then fed it to him.

  He opened his mouth immediately, swallowed it, and whispered, “That’s very good, child.”

  “We feed you a little bit at a time.” She fed him half the cupful of broth, but that was all he could manage. Again he asked for water, and Chantel gave him a small amount, again cautioning him to take small sips. “You’re so sick, Mr. Steiner, you’ll just eat a little, drink a little, then more when you’re better.”

  He took several small sips then sighed tremulously. “I think you saved my life, Miss Fortier.”

  “You call me Chantel. Everybody does.” She knelt down beside him and put the broth down. “You want to lie down and sleep?”

  “No, I want to sit for a while. The heat feels so good.”

  “You talk so funny—why is that?”

  “Because I grew up in another country, Germany.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “Far across the sea. I’ve been here many years, but I know I still have an accent. You have an accent, too, Chantel.”

  “I talk like Cajun. That’s what I am.”

  Steiner seemed to be revived by the warmth of the tent and by the warm food. He smiled a little, a gentle smile so genuine that Chantel could clearly see the kindness and warmth in him. The very few remaining wisps of doubt she had about him disappeared.

  “Cajun,” he repeated. “Creoles from the southern parts of Louisiana, I believe. Is that where your people are?”

  “I have no family.”

  “You’re all alone?”

  “Yes, all alone.”

  “How did you end up on this abandoned road?”

  She stared at him, bemused, and finally answered slowly, “I don’t know. I just rode and rode and came here. It’s a good thing for you I did, me.”

  Steiner smiled, “Yes, indeed very good. I owe you my life, child. I could feel myself getting ready to go meet God.”

  Chantel was silent for a moment. “My mother went to meet with the good God not long ago.”

  “And your father?”

  “Him, too, but longer ago. And my stepfather—” Abruptly she broke off.

  Steiner shot a quick glance at her. “You were afraid of him?”

  “He—he wasn’t a good man. He wouldn’t leave me alone, so I have to run away.”

  Jacob nodded sadly. “And so where were you running?”

  “My mother had a sister. But when I got there, she’d gone, so now I have no one.”

  Jacob said quietly, “Well, that isn’t exactly true. You have God and you have me. You’ve saved me, and now I’ll be your friend.”

  Suddenly tears came to Chantel’s eyes. She’d felt so alone so many nights under the canopy of stars. Even when the sun was shining and the world was bright around her, she had an emptiness in her that was almost like a physical ache. “That—that would be good, Mr. Steiner.”

  “Call me Jacob. Friends call each other by their given names.”

  “Is Jacob a German name?”

  “No, Jacob is a Bible name.”

  “You named from a man in the Bible?”

  “Yes, in the book of Genesis.”

  “You’re a Christian man then?”

  “I’m a Jew, Chantel. Do you know what a Jew is?”

  “No, I never knew any Jews.”

  “It would take a long time to tell you. Let me say this: I was born into a Jewish family, and we were taught that one day a Savior would come, a Messiah. All Jews are waiting for that.”

  “And who is he? Do you mean Jesus?”

  “Yes, it is Jesus. Most Jews don’t believe that. They’re still waiting for a Messiah. I found Jesus as my Messiah, so now I’m a Christian Jew. That’s very hard for some people to understand, but I love the Lord Jesus.”

  “Ma mere loved Jesus. She talked to me about Him sometimes.”

  “Do you have Jesus in your heart?”

  “No, I’m alone, me.” She hesitated then added, “I go sometimes to church, but I don’t know what it means.”

  “Well, perhaps later we can talk about that.”

  She saw that his eyes were drooping, so she said, “You sleep for a little. When you wake up, I give you more broth.”

  As she helped him to lie back down, he asked, “Chantel, shall I tell you something?”

  “Yes, what is it?”

  “I knew you were coming.”

  Chantel stared at him. “How did you know that?”

  “When I was so very sick, it seemed as if I were awake, and I had a dream. Do you ever dream, Chantel?”

  “Sometimes, but not when I’m awake.”

  “I still don’t know if I was awake or asleep, but I dreamed that I wasn’t going to die. I just knew someone was coming to help me, and so I rested better. Then I woke up and saw you, and I knew that God had sent you.”

  “The good God? I talk to Him sometimes, but He don’t answer me. He didn’t tell me to come. He doesn’t know where I go.”

  “God knows you and has known you since before you were born. And He chose you to help a poor old man that was dying.” He put out his hand.

  Chantel instinctively took it. “I don’t know about all that. I just know I find you.”

  “We’ll talk later. I’m very sleepy.” He lay back.

  Chantel covered him with the blankets. She checked the stove and then walked outside. She was fascinated with Jacob Steiner. She hadn’t ever met anyone like him. His appearance, his speech, and everything about him was strange to her. She studied the stars for a while and then decided that she might sleep in the wagon. Making up a nice bed with one of the cot mattresses under her and a clean blanket, she thought about Jacob Steiner, about his dream, and about his insistence that God had sent her to save him. She thought that was just the old man’s mind wandering in his sickness and settled down to sleep.

  As she drifted off, it fleetingly occurred to her that maybe Jacob Steiner had been sent to save her.

  The next day Jacob had improved considerably. Chantel fed him eggs, for he had a large supply. He ate three of them for breakfast. “You’re a good cook, Chantel,” he said.

  “Anybody can cook eggs.”

  “People who can cook eggs always say that. But the people who can’t cook eggs know better.”

  The sun had come out and the earth had warmed up. The smell of the earth and the woods was strong in Chantel’s nostrils, and she sniffed appreciatively. Then she turned to him and said, “You rest some more, Jacob. I think you’ll need to rest a few days. I’ll cook for you, and you’ll get better and stronger. Right now I’ll get Rosie, me, and we’ll move your poor old horse far away. Not good to be so near dead animals.”

  “You’re a very resourceful child, Chantel,” he said, settling back down on the cot.

  “I don’t know what that means, me,” she said uncertainly.

  “It means that I’m glad God sent me such a smart and strong girl to help me,” he said then closed his eyes.

  For three days Jacob rested. Chantel cooked for him and helped him get up and walk around for a while on the third day. Even she realized that, as sick as he had been when she found him, it was amazing that he recovered so quickly.

  He talked to her, and she found it easy to converse with him. Surprising even herself,
she told him all about her mother, the tragic death of her father, and her evil stepfather. She told him all about her journey, how frightened and lonely she had been. Finally she was able to admit how glad she was that she had found him.

  “It was a miracle of God, my dear,” he told her over and over. “A miracle for me and a miracle for you.”

  He read the Bible to her, and even though she didn’t understand much of it, it gave her the same warm, secure feeling that she used to have when her mother was alive. Her mere would read to her on the long, velvet nights on the bayou, her voice quiet and soothing, and Chantel felt as if the world was a good place, and her life was rich and would always be happy.

  Oddly, in the hours Jacob Steiner read to her, sometimes this same peace would steal over her, an almost forgotten dream. She still thought of the good God as a very great Being, off somewhere up in the sky, who talked to a few lucky people like her mother and Jacob Steiner and Father Billaud. It was a worship of Him, of a sort, and in Chantel’s childlike way, she loved Him. Considering the hardships of the past month, that in itself was a miracle.

  The wagon lurched in the deeply rutted road. Chantel and Jacob were tossed from side to side. But now Jacob knew he was strong enough to ride most of a day, with two or perhaps three rests.

  The wagon lurched again, sticking a little in the old timeworn tracks. But Rosie was a strong animal, so she pulled the wagon easily.

  Jacob commented, “That’s a good horse you have.”

  “She’s not fast but ver’ strong.”

  Jacob didn’t say anything for a while, thinking on an idea that had been forming over the last couple of days. Finally he turned to her and said, “You’re running away from this evil man, your stepfather.”

  “It wouldn’t be good if he finds me.”

  Jacob nodded. “You do well to be afraid of men like that. I’ve been praying, and I believe that God wants us to travel together.”

  “Together, you and me?”

  “Yes, and we’ll help each other.”

  “How will we do that?”

  “Well, you see, you, Chantel, have a horse. And here I am with a wagon.”

  Chantel laughed, something she had been doing more often lately. “They go together, they do.”

  “Yes, they do. Let me tell you what I do. I am a peddler. I buy materials and food cheaply, then I go through the country and I stop at houses. I stay in the country mostly, for people there can’t get to stores as often. I sell the goods, and when I run low, I go buy more goods. I have a good business. And I would like for you to be my partner.”

  “A partner?”

  “Yes, we’ll work together. I’m getting old now. Have you wondered how old?”

  “Yes, me, I am fifteen.”

  “And I am sixty-one, and I cannot do what I could when I was young. You’re young and strong. You can do the things I can’t do.” He could see that she was considering it, her eyes alight. “Would you like to do that?”

  “Yes, I would like to, me. I’ll go with you, Jacob.”

  “I’m very pleased.” He smiled as his eyes rested on her. “The Bible says that two are better than one.”

  “That is true,” Chantel agreed with a deep sigh. “I’ve been one. I don’t want to be one, me.”

  “You and I are partners. We will help each other. The good God will look after us.”

  Chantel sat back, relaxed,

  Jacob watched her. He could see a peace come over her face. He recognized that much of the hurt and the fear she carried with her was in the process of healing.

  God, You must help me to be good to this young woman. Keep that evil man far away from her, and help us that together we can find a way to serve You. I pray this in the name of Jesus. And he whispered, “Amen, and Amen.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  I guess you know what you’re doing, Morgan, but if I was you, then I’d let Clay simmer down in there for a week or two.”

  Morgan Tremayne shrugged and said, “Well, Mac, if I thought it would do Clay any good, I’d do that. But it doesn’t seem to matter if he’s in jail or out. Clay is just Clay.”

  Mac Rogers, the jailer in charge of the Richmond jail, scratched his face. His fingernails rasped across his unshaven cheek. “How many times is this you’ve bailed him out?”

  “Too many.”

  “Why don’t you quit doing it then?” Rogers asked. “It’s just throwing money down the drain.”

  “He’s my brother, Mac. Family, you know. You’re just stuck with them.”

  “Well, it’s your money, Morgan. I’ll fetch him for you.” He took the twenty dollars that Morgan handed him, jammed it into his pocket, and went through the back door leading to the cells.

  Left alone in the office, Morgan stood with his feet planted firmly, staring into space. He waited without moving until the door opened again and his brother, Clay Tremayne, came in. As always, Morgan couldn’t keep himself from comparing himself to his brother and feeling he came up lacking in many ways.

  Morgan was six feet tall, but he was not a large man. He was slim and lithe, with smooth muscles. He took after his mother, with dark auburn hair and dark blue eyes. His face was finely modeled, with a thin nose and wide mouth.

  Clay Tremayne was as tall as Morgan but was more strongly built. His hair was dark brown, almost black, and he had brown eyes with thick curly eyelashes. His face was more masculine than Morgan’s fine features, with a strong jaw and high cheekbones. He was a fine-looking man, well-built and athletic. There was a rashness and devilment in his smile that seemed typical of everything that Clay Tremayne was.

  “I knew you’d be here to rescue me sooner or later,” Clay said with that familiar smile on his handsome face.

  “Why do you have to make such a fool of yourself, Clay?” Morgan asked.

  “Because everything I’m not supposed to do is what I like to do.”

  “Don’t you ever feel bad about the way you’re treating your family?”

  “Once in a while”—Clay shrugged—“my conscience hurts me a little bit. Maybe I’ll straighten up one of these days.”

  “Clay, you’ve been getting into these scrapes ever since we were kids. You’re not happy; you know you’re not. You need to let God into your life.”

  Clay stared at Morgan and the smile disappeared as if an unpleasant thought had come to him. “Why don’t you give up on me, Morgan? God has.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “It is true, and I don’t blame Him. I tried God, but it never worked out.”

  “No, you’ve never tried God. You’ve done what you wanted to your whole life, and most of those things are not good.”

  “I know,” Clay retorted shortly. “But they sure can be fun. In any case, I appreciate you bailing me out, Morgan. You’re a good fellow.”

  They went outside. Morgan’s horse was hitched there, and just down the street—perhaps luckily for Clay—was the Planter’s Hotel, where Clay kept a permanent apartment. Morgan mounted up then said, “Clay, I’ve got to warn you about something.”

  “What is it this time?”

  “Stay away from Belle Howard. And stop your gambling.”

  “Why should I stay away from Belle? She’s one of the best-looking women I’ve ever seen. And as for the gambling, I win more than I lose.”

  “Well, I guess maybe your gambling is your business, but with Belle you’re playing with fire. Don’t you realize the Howard family is as proud as Lucifer?’

  “I’m not running around with Belle’s family, just her.”

  Morgan’s eyes narrowed, and then his lips grew tight. “Clay, you know her brothers are fire-eaters. They almost killed Shelby Stevens. He wasn’t doing much more than looking at her.”

  “Ah, those fellows have an overdeveloped sense of honor.” Suddenly Clay grinned. “Belle doesn’t, though.”

  Morgan grimaced. “Why is it, Clay, that you always want what you can’t have? There are plenty of loose women for you to chase a
fter, but Belle Howard is a different story. She’s from a respected family, she’s supposed to be a lady, and if you mess with her, it can get you killed.”

  “Not if they don’t catch me,” he said, grinning.

  That same night Clay went to the Silver Slipper with only five dollars in his pocket. He boosted it up to fifty playing blackjack. He didn’t like blackjack all that much, so he soon found a poker game. For over two hours he played, losing some but winning more.

  His chief opponent at the table was Lester Goodnight. Clay told him carelessly as he shuffled, “You need to find another hobby besides poker, Les.”

  “I’m a good poker player, but somehow when you play I never win.” He sat up straight on his chair. He was a thin man with stubborn features and a ready temper. “Nobody wins as much as you do on luck alone.”

  Clay’s eyes narrowed and darkened to a smoldering black. “You want to explain what you mean by that, Goodnight?”

  Goodnight had lost a great deal of money. He leaned forward, and as he did, the gun at his side was clearly visible. “I’m saying a man that wins like you do isn’t a straight player.”

  Kyle Tolliver had been in the game, and now he leaned forward and said, “Clay, let’s get out of here.” He was Clay’s best friend, and he saw that Goodnight had been drinking and was known to pull a gun on other men.

  Clay turned and grinned at Kyle. “My family must pay you a fee to follow me around and make sure I do the right thing.”

  “Let’s go. You’ve won enough.”

  “He ain’t leaving until he gives me a chance to win back my money,” Goodnight muttered.

  Clay considered him, his gaze still fiery, but then he suddenly appeared utterly bored. “How about tomorrow night, then? I’m tired. I didn’t get much rest in that jail, Les.”

  “All right, you be here tomorrow or I’ll come looking for you.”

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Clay said casually, rising and straightening his cuffs, flicking off an imaginary speck. “You don’t know what kind of mood you might find me in. I’m in a pretty good mood tonight, or I might have taken offense at some of those fool things you said, Les. I’ll be right here tomorrow night. You just be here and bring your money.”