River Bend

by Barbara Shepherd

  “Yas, suh. I’ll tell Grayson. He took over when Mr. James passed on.”

  The next morning, Jake had deer sausage, fried pork strips, hominy grits, fried eggs with peppers, beaten biscuits with butter and blackberry jam, and lots of strong coffee. “Tell Cook,” he said to his server, “I appreciate the waffles and maple syrup, but I wouldn’t be able to crawl up on my horse if I ate those, too.”

  Phineas Grayson, the overseer, waited at the door of the greenhouse. “Good morning, Mr. Owens.” He tipped his hat.

  “Not Mr. Owens,” Jake said. “Refer to me as Trader Jake.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Both men looked toward the sky when a pheasant took flight, its iridescent plumage a contrast to the somber day. When Phineas turned his head again, Jake noticed a large scar covering the left side of the man’s neck, a scar old enough to have lost its redness.

  Jake addressed him. “Has Old Bailey filled you in? About the plantation owner’s status?”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. O, I mean Trader Jake. Sorry to hear of his passing.”

  “We all are,” Jake said. “I want to see your daily reports since Mr. Owens went missing.”

  Phineas looked down at his feet and tapped one of his dusty boots. “Don’t have daily reports, sir.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Didn’t have anyone to turn them in to.”

  Jake resisted the urge to ball up his fists. “You will prepare daily reports from now on,” he said, “to turn in to the main house no later than daybreak the next morning—every morning—whether I’m here or not. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir. Understood.” The overseer rubbed his scarred neck.

  “I’ll have Old Bailey prepare a report box for the back porch,” Jake said, “where you may deposit them.” He discussed the workings of the plantation with the overseer and paused periodically for input. Ending their conversation with his expectations for the future of River Bend, Jake instructed Phineas as to the requirements and the limitations of his position as overseer.

  Phineas mounted his horse and left for the cotton field, his anger apparent by the way he slapped the reins against the horse’s flank.

  Before returning to the big house, Jake stopped by the kitchen and wrapped his arms around the plantation’s plump cook.

  “How are you, Lizzie?”

  She gave him a wide grin. “Jest fine, Trader Jake. What brings you out here?” She clamped her hand over her mouth.

  “It’s all right, Lizzie. “I’m still getting used to Stephen’s death, too.”

  She removed her hand. “What can I get you to eat?”

  “Oh, Lizzie, you’ve made my belt tight with breakfast. I don’t need a thing. Just stopped by to see you.” He blew her a kiss and strode back to the big house where he measured Stephen’s massive desk. On his way out, he gave instructions to Old Bailey to prepare guest rooms for Belle and Johnathan.

  “Would love to have them back, suh,” Old Bailey said. “When is they comin’?”

  “Haven’t broken the news to her yet,” Jake said. “Be prepared in case they show up.” He mounted his roan for the ride back to the settlement.

  About two miles out, he smelled smoke and reined in the roan. He looked toward a stand of timber where dark smoke curled upward. He rode over to the tree line, dismounted, and walked his horse into the woods.

  “Yo, the camp,” he said when he got close to the fire. “It’s Trader Jake.”

  “Come on in,” a squeaky voice called. The man appeared from behind a tree, weapon in hand. He laid the long gun on his fur pack and offered his hand to Jake who shook it.

  “I’m Patterson. Everyone calls me Kid.”

  A shot rang out. Peering toward the sound, Jake crouched and grabbed his gun. Kid never moved.

  “Nothing to worry about,” Kid said. “That’s my partner, chasing down some vittles. We heard quail about the time we set up camp.”

  Jake relaxed. “Kid, aren’t you the clockmaker from Missouri?”

  “Yep.

  “I was hoping you’d come in this year.”

  “You got a clock needs repair?”

  “No, but I figure you made wooden cases for some of the clocks.”

  “Shore did.”

  “I’m in need of a good carpenter.”

  “I can’t build no house,” Kid said. “Nothing that big. Don’t want to stay here that long. I ain’t gonna miss out on my trapping.”

  “You won’t,” Jake said. “What I have in mind is more of a fine craftsman’s task. The wood is already cured, stained, and finished. There’s a beautiful desk that I want you to make a casket out of.”

  “A casket? How big is this desk?”

  “It’s massive, I assure you. There’s enough wood. I could do it, but I want it to look like it came from a fine furniture maker.”

  “Didn’t think I’d ever need them,” Kid said, “but I kept my box of carving knives.”

  “Any larger tools you need,” Jake said, “are at your disposal in the carriage house at River Bend. I’ll draw you a map and make arrangements for you to work there when you have time to spare during rendezvous.”

  “And you’ll pay me?”

  “This means a lot to me,” Jake said. “I’ll pay you well, Kid.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Samuel and Benjamin stood facing the front of the hotel. They turned around when Trader Jake rode up.

  “You two look like lost puppy dogs,” Jake said. “What are you waiting on? Go on in. The hotel is open to the public. You don’t have to be invited in.”

  “Could be you should introduce us?” Samuel twisted his fur cap in one of his massive hands.

  Jake dismounted. “Oh, all right.” He scaled the steps and strode across the porch. When he opened the door, Benjamin followed him, but Samuel held back.

  Amelia and Catherine, dressed in their Sunday best, rose from the settee.

  “Amelia and Catherine Atkins,” Jake said, “may I present Benjamin to you?”

  The women curtsied before they walked around the stunned Benjamin, running their hands over his arms, squeezing enough to feel his muscles. Amelia smoothed his beard.

  “Ladies,” Jake said, “he’s not a horse at an auction.”

  “Looks like a stud to me,” Catherine said, causing Benjamin to take a step back.

  “Don’t be bashful,” she said. “We’re pleased to meet you, Mr. Benjamin.” She darted her eyes toward Jake. “I’ve noticed a few men walk by—some shorter than this one. Is this the biggest man Texas has to offer?”

  Jake chuckled. “So glad you asked. I had Amelia in mind to get acquainted with Benjamin. Close your eyes, Catherine.”

  She shook her head.

  “Do it for me,” he said.

  She closed her eyes, and Jake opened the door wider. He motioned for Samuel to come in.

  “Catherine Atkins,” Jake said, “may I present Samuel?”

  When Catherine opened her eyes, she also opened her mouth, but no words came out.

  Samuel ducked under the door facing to enter, shook her hand, sized her up with his eyes, and smiled.

  “You’re a bear of a man,” she said when she got her voice back. “Texas does grow big men.” After looking him up and down, she nodded. “You’ll do, Mr. Samuel, unless you have a wife or two out in the wilds.”

  Samuel shook his head. “No, ma’am, no wives.”

  “Me neither,” Benjamin said.

  “I’ll let you all get acquainted,” Jake said. “Excuse me, ladies. I have a horse to tend to.”

  “No need,” Burcham said. “Absalom’s leading her to the livery now.”

  “Follow me to the kitchen.” Jake motioned to Burcham. “We have business to discuss.”

  When they reached the kitchen, Burcham asked, “What business, Mr. Jake?”

  “None. I didn’t want to be a party to that parley while they get acquainted. I’ve done all the matchmaking I intend to. Ever.” He poured himself a cup
of coffee and stepped out on the back porch.

  “Now, you’ve gone and done it,” Belle said.

  Startled, Jake almost spilled his coffee. “Sorry, ma’am, didn’t know you were out here.”

  “Ma’am? Thought we were past that.”

  “We are, Belle. I’m a little rattled. Kinda new to this matchmaking business.”

  “I would be, too.” She sat in a rocker and watched Johnathan line up his little covered wagons in the dirt beside the back porch.

  “We’ll have grass before long,” Jake said, “so he won’t get his clothes so dirty.”

  Laughing, Belle said, “He’s a boy. He’ll find dirt.”

  Jake nodded and sat in a straight-backed chair. “This is nice.” When his coffee cup was empty, he cleared his throat before he spoke. “Belle, are you happy here?”

  “Of course.”

  “I mean, happy living here at the hotel?”

  Belle turned to face him. “Why would you ask that?”

  “I know you’ve enjoyed the company of women lately. They’re so rare out here, but if Amelia and Catherine find the men they search for, they’ll be leaving the hotel.”

  Belle nodded.

  “And with Mrs. Burcham here to work the hotel with her husband, you won’t have much to do.”

  “I’ve been wondering about that,” Belle said. “Are you saying I can’t provide enough services to the hotel to pay for my keep?”

  Jake took a deep breath. “Not exactly.”

  “Let’s be more exact,” Belle said. “And shouldn’t I have this talk with Mr. Burcham? He does run the hotel.”

  Almost caught in a lie, Jake remembered he had never made it clear he owned the hotel. Burcham, String, and Samuel were the only ones who knew.

  “Pardon me for overstepping my boundaries,” Jake said. “My mind was racing to a matter I wish to discuss with you.”

  Belle leaned toward him, concern on her face. “What matter?”

  “Without Stephen at the helm, River Bend needs leadership.”

  Belle frowned and sat back in her chair. “I’m no plantation owner.”

  “No, no. Stephen has an overseer in place to watch over the crops and slaves.” Jake winced at the word and saw Belle do the same.

  “What River Bend needs now is someone to manage the main house. It would be more pleasant than a hotel room for you and your son. Old Bailey speaks highly of you, so I know he’d love for you and Johnathan to move in.”

  “To return,” she mumbled.

  Jake took his leave without saying anything, preferring to let Belle deal with her thoughts. He had planted the seed and hoped his idea would germinate. Not only would he be happier with her living at River Bend and Johnathan growing up there, he wanted to get her out of the way before the rendezvous crowd escalated into an epic throng of male animals.

  Standing in front of his hotel, Trader Jake crossed his arms. “Good investment. When I get tired of sailing—if I ever do—this is where I can calm my sea legs and plant myself on land.”

  String sauntered over. “Captain, are you going to kidnap that lady again this year?”

  “Hoping not to. Haven’t ruled it out, though.”

  “Doc said to let you know the body’s ready whenever you are.”

  “Good. Now, String, we’re waiting on the casket.”

  “What’s your plan? You always have one.”

  “We’ll lay Stephen to rest before we open up the trading post, because once I start buying furs, there’ll be no stopping point.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “When we’re at the Owens Cemetery, I’m praying Belle will stay at River Bend to live in the main house. If I could get her to pack up before the funeral service, she’d have no reason to come back into town. That way, she’d miss most of the rendezvous.”

  “Good plan, Captain.”

  “Yes. We’ll see if it comes to fruition.”

  Tinkly sounds reached their ears before they heard soft laughter.

  “Fancy women.” String pointed to two wagons headed toward them, one with a fringed top. “Will they need hotel rooms, Captain?”

  “Could be. Looks like too many to room at the saloon.”

  He and String took off on foot to greet their new, temporary tenants.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Belle rounded up Johnathan and his toys before going back into the hotel to see what was causing the racket. Lilting voices and cackled laughter filled the parlor. Women in traveling dresses of red and blue velvet tapped their high-topped boots that laced several inches above their ankles. Powder and rouge camouflaged wrinkled skin while lips of red looked garish to Belle. She slid by on the way to her room, shushing Johnathan’s questions. He ran ahead, carrying his toys.

  While going down the hallway, Belle overheard part of the conversation from the parlor and stopped.

  “We have more coming,” one woman said. “The young ones. We can’t all stay in the saloon. How many rooms do you have?”

  “Ten,” Burcham said, “but only six are available for rent.”

  Her voice became accusing. “Why is that?”

  “We have permanent tenants—residents,” Burcham said.

  “It’s rendezvous,” the woman said, disdain coloring her words. “We are your guests for the next few weeks. We should be given priority.”

  Mrs. Burcham pushed past Belle in the hallway. Standing beside her husband, she confronted the woman in velvet. “How dare you make demands!”

  Burcham touched his wife’s shoulder and whispered, “You forget yourself, dear.”

  The woman in velvet nodded and said, “Precisely.”

  When she threatened to take a step forward, Burcham restrained his wife.

  Jake sauntered in and removed his hat. “Ladies,” he said, “please be seated in the dining room where we may serve you some refreshment.”

  They surveyed his tall frame, nodded their approval, and left the parlor.

  “I will not serve those hussies,” Mrs. Burcham said.

  “Now, dear,” her husband said. “We have an obligation to serve every hotel guest. Remember, this is our livelihood.”

  “No.” She folded her arms across her chest.

  “Perhaps,” Jake said, “Absalom could place the food and drink on the sideboard, and the ladies could serve themselves.”

  Burcham nodded.

  “Ladies!” Mrs. Burcham said with a sneer. “Excuse me, Trader Jake.” She stomped out of the parlor.

  Burcham ignored her and asked Jake, “What are we going to do for more rooms?”

  “You may have mine,” Belle said. “I don’t want to be in the way.”

  “You were never in the way,” Jake said. “And, I wanted to speak with you about Stephen’s burial. We could do that tomorrow. After that, you and Johnathan could stay on at River Bend.”

  “That’s acceptable,” Belle said, “but don’t go planning my activities for me. I didn’t say I’d move there.” Anger flashed in her eyes. “This is temporary. I don’t need a man telling me what to do.”

  Neither of the men responded.

  “I’ll be packed by morning,” she said over her shoulder as she marched down the hallway to her hotel room.

  “Whoa,” Jake said after Belle closed her door. “There’s way too much commotion when you get a bunch of women in the same space.”

  “Agreed,” Burcham said. “Absalom!”

  Breakfast the next morning brought less chaos than Belle expected because the new ladies slept in. Charcoal clouds greeted her and her child, Trader Jake, and String as they rode out to River Bend. With his roan tied on behind, Jake drove the wagon to transport Belle, Johnathan, and their trunks. Following them, String drove the wagon with Stephen Owens resting inside his custom-crafted casket.

  Sadness swept over Belle when she saw the cemetery looming ahead. It sat on top of a small knoll, the few graves shaded by ancient oak trees. Stephen had been right when he said it was a peaceful spot for a final rest
ing place for her husband. Oh, Michael, why did death come so early for you? Why did we ever come to this wild place? This lonely place.

  Coming closer to the cemetery, Belle saw Stephen’s slaves forming a tight knot of mourners. Some of them unloaded the casket and carried it to the top of the knoll. A couple of them stayed with the horses after Jake helped Belle and Johnathan down.

  A gentle rain began to fall, each drop feeling like a sliver of ice. When Belle shivered, she caught movement from the corner of her eye. Old Bailey appeared with an umbrella and held it for her until Jake reached for it. Placing his large hand at the small of her back, he escorted her to the fresh gravesite. String scooped Johnathan up and carried him.

  Phineas Grayson rode up, bringing a preacher with him. The overseer ran up to Belle and started to introduce himself, but Jake stopped him.

  “This is about Stephen,” Jake said.

  Phineas stepped aside, splashing muddy water when he stomped through a puddle.

  Belle watched him walk away from the group of mourners. His scar caught her eye.

  The itinerant preacher pulled his well-worn Bible from inside his heavy coat, letting it fall open to whatever scripture it wanted to. He gave his memorized speech, read from his Bible, and prayed over the “dearly departed gentleman.”

  “Out of respect for Masta’s garden,” Old Bailey said, “we send these with you.” He dropped two blue potatoes and a wine-colored bloom from a lily into the grave on top of the casket. He wrinkled the brim of the hat he carried, ducked his head, and walked away.

  Each slave followed him, dropping a flower, a vegetable, or a leaf from the many plants Stephen had managed to grow despite the ever-changing weather in Texas. Most of the slaves had helped him with the crops in the field or tended the unusual vegetation in his greenhouse.

  Phineas never came near the grave but pointed to the coffin. He spoke loud enough for others to hear him. “What a waste of good wood to bury in the ground.”

  Jake and Belle looked away from him and mumbled their private prayers. Jake shook hands with the preacher.

  “I wish I had a bouquet for Stephen,” Belle said. “I’ll bring wildflowers later when the weather gets warm enough for them.”