River Bend

by Barbara Shepherd

  Johnathan smeared her tears. “Don’t cry, Princess. You remembered the secret code.”

  She nodded and hugged him until he protested. As they walked to the back porch to get Johnathan cleaned up, she saw Phineas and that strange man again, both standing in front of the stable and glaring at her. Hurrying, she washed the mud off her dress and stripped Johnathan naked before going inside to reload the pistol.

  The next morning, Belle rose early to start packing, but a loud banging of the doorknocker interrupted her. Stepping out to the stair railing, she looked down to see Old Bailey open the door for a man wearing a brace of pistols across his chest.

  “Looking for a Mrs. Strong,” the man said, his voice as rugged as his appearance. His eyes darted to her while his hand flew to the handle of one of the guns.

  He moves like lightning.

  “I’m Mrs. Strong.”

  “Pleased to meet you.” The man relaxed his stance. “Franklin Yates at your service.” He removed his hat. “My men are here on Austin’s orders.”

  “I’ll be right down. Old Bailey, please serve these men some coffee.”

  “Yas, missy.”

  Yates drank several cups of coffee at the breakfast table while explaining to Belle what his battalion of volunteers planned to accomplish along the banks of the Red River. They would be in northern Texas for a short time, long enough to make their presence known and recruit locals to range the area later.

  “I’ll report our findings to our commanding officer,” he said. “The first man we are to detain is an Indian of mixed blood, bigger than most. It’s said he’s ugly and cruel, having run off settlers south of here several years ago. Your letter made us consider he’s moved up here.”

  “That description matches a brave we’ve seen. Angry Wolf.”

  Yates nodded. “That’s the one. When and where did you see him last?”

  “Yesterday, here on the plantation.”

  “Why was he here?”

  “To kidnap my son.”

  “I regret we weren’t here yesterday, ma’am, but we’ll protect you and find your son for you.”

  “No need. Angry Wolf won’t be back.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “I killed him. A mother has to protect her child.”

  A surprised Yates agreed with her and requested details. Satisfied with the information, he mentioned the theft and embezzlement scheme Belle had hinted at in her letter. She stated what she had observed, but that she hadn’t accused the overseer.

  “Back in Georgia before I came to Texas,” Yates said, “the plantation next to mine had a similar situation. Their overseer disappeared when the law went out to arrest him.” Yates rubbed his jaw and tapped his fingers on the table. “Can’t remember what he was called. Had a real, unusual Christian name. Sounds funny to say that, don’t it? Thievery goes against Bible teachings, but we still say the man has a Christian name.”

  “Phineas?”

  “That’s the one. Phineas Grayson.”

  “He works and lives on this plantation,” Belle said. “I haven’t looked out today, but he was on the grounds yesterday. Another man I don’t know has shown up here at least twice.”

  “Could be Turnbull. Excuse me, ma’am.” Yates left to join his men.

  Feeling drained, Belle didn’t know whether to go back to packing or stay in case Yates had more questions. Old Bailey served her breakfast. After that, she decided packing could wait awhile.

  Before the week was out, Belle had packed most of what she wanted to take with her and called a meeting of the house staff to let them know she’d be moving. Before they could assemble, Old Bailey opened the front door for Yates and ushered him in to the parlor.

  Yates took off his hat before he sat and informed Belle of his progress, part of it organizing local volunteers who could be called upon when she and the other settlers felt threatened. His men waited outside with their prisoners.

  “We’ve arrested Turnbull and a few renegade Indians working with him,” Yates said. “Have one more duty before we head south. You shouldn’t have problems with these again.” He donned his hat and strode out like he was on a mission, his spurs ringing as his long legs carried him across the porch and down the steps. One of his men fell in behind him and headed toward the stable.

  Within minutes, the volunteer lawmen returned to the lawn, shoving Phineas ahead of them. He gave her a mean look which no longer threatened her. They shackled him to the other prisoners, making them walk in front of the horses. Yates mounted and rode back to the porch where Belle stood.

  “Would you like a wagon for transport, Mr. Yates?”

  “No, ma’am,” he said. “A long walk will give them time to worry about their fate.” He removed his hat. “Writing that letter, Mrs. Strong, was a fine thing for you to do. Landowners we met several days ride from here, on the east and the south, were worried about scrapes they’ve had with these same prisoners. They were mighty pleased you brought us up here. For now, you should be safe.”

  “It doesn’t matter, Mr. Yates. I’ll be moving to Missouri soon to get away from all this.”

  “That’d be a real shame to move away from such a fine place, especially since you’ve accomplished so much. Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

  “Likewise, Mr. Yates. I appreciate your service.”

  After they left, Belle asked Old Bailey to add the rest of the slaves to the meeting. Once everyone was assembled on the lawn, she addressed them from the porch. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she said, “I am packing to leave for Missouri.”

  The crowd murmured, and some voiced their surprise and asked her to stay. She waved her hand for silence, and they quieted.

  “Trader Jake is still on the high seas, as far as I know,” Belle said. “That means you have no one in a position of ownership or as an overseer. You will be on your own, and I hope you will maintain the crops, garden, stable, and all other duties until he returns. However, his is a dangerous occupation, and he could be delayed or never make it back. Considering this, you will be free to leave if you choose. Before I go, I will prepare papers, stating you are a free person and free to travel wherever you like.”

  Instead of the celebratory response she expected, she was met with tears and many who begged her not to free them. She wondered why some cowered in front of her, worse than if she held a whip over them like Phineas. Their frightened cries sliced through her resolve.

  Reverend Perot stepped forward. “Mrs. Strong,” he said, “we don’t want to be free.”

  Belle frowned. “Why would you say such a thing?”

  “As long as we stay on this plantation, we’re safe. Once we leave, we end up back on the auction block.”

  “But you’d have the paper confirming your free status.”

  “Papers get lost. Most of them get snatched from us and torn to pieces or burned in front of our faces. We’d be sold to the highest bidder and separated from family and friends.”

  “And get beat. Maybe get beat ta death,” Lizzie said. “Please stay, missy.”

  “You can all stay here, if you want to, and manage yourselves.”

  “No, Mrs. Strong,” the reverend said. “Once word gets out there’s this many slaves with no owner, auctioneers and slave traders will come and get every one of us. We’re chattel. We don’t like being owned, but we’re worth a lot of money. Only you can protect us now.”

  Weary and worried about these people who had become family to her, Belle sat on the top step and held her face in her hands. Lizzie and Old Bailey approached her and begged her to stay.

  Old Bailey whispered into her ear, “We been free on paper since Masta moved us here, but no one knows ’cept Lizzie and me. Messicans don’t ’low no slaves. Masta freed us so’s he could get dis land.”

  Johnathan ran out on the porch, fresh from his nap, and sat beside his mother.

  “What’s wrong, Princess?” His innocence touched her heart.

  “Nothing, S
ky Prince. We’re going to postpone our move to Missouri. Let’s go unpack.”

  “Oh, yes, Princess.”

  “We be honored to unpack your things.” Old Bailey motioned for help from the house staff. They ran past her and into the house, using the front door, but no one cared.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Summer days dragged by for Belle until she opened the fabric gift from Trader Jake again. With firm resolve and shears in hand, she sliced into one of the exquisite silks. Once she conquered the fear of ruining the fabric, she felt more at ease.

  If Belle did move from River Bend, the last thing she needed was another dress to pack, so she cut out a vest, patterned after the style men wore. Before sewing the pieces together, she added trapunto to the fronts, outlining the bird designs and stuffing them with wadding. Enhancing the butterflies in flight with doubled thread and satin and stem stitches kept her mind and hands busy. After completing the vest one morning, she tried it on over the shirt she often wore with her riding skirt. Satisfied with the result, she changed back into her day dress.

  In the parlor that afternoon, she sewed buttons on the vest and fashioned frogs for button closures. When she sewed them on and returned her needle and thread to her sewing box, mending vied for her attention.

  That boy wears holes in these breeches almost as fast as I can darn them.

  Johnathan burst into the parlor, almost out of breath. “Trader Jake! Trader Jake! He’s coming up the road. May I meet him? Please, please, Mama.”

  How could she refuse? “You may, but take care around his horse.”

  “Yes, Mama.” His feet barely touched the floor as he ran out.

  Laying her mending aside, Belle went upstairs to her room and changed clothes.

  “Trader Jake, you’re back.” Johnathan ran toward the sea captain, mounted on his roan and leading two other horses.

  Jake greeted the boy, reached down, and pulled him up to ride double on the roan.

  “I’ve never seen such white horses,” Johnathan said.

  “They look white, but they’re really a gray,” Jake said. “Can you say Lipizzaner stallion?”

  “I can say stallion.”

  Jake laughed. “I’ve been wanting one for years.”

  “But you have two.”

  “Yes, one is a gift for your mother. It’s a surprise, so don’t tell her.”

  “I won’t.”

  “I traded for these horses in Austria where many of them perform tricks for royalty.”

  “Royalty? Like kings and princes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mama will be pleased.”

  Jake explained to Johnathan how the Lipizzaner colts are born black but get lighter with age. “Their hair has now turned white, but their skin is still gray.” He brought the horses to a stop before he reached the house, let Johnathan down, and dismounted. He tied the stallions to a large limb of the magnolia tree and let the reins of the roan drop to the ground.

  “May I tell Old Bailey about the surprise?”

  “You may. Now, scoot.”

  Johnathan ran to the old slave who stood beside the steps of the front porch.

  By the time Jake reached the house, gave Old Bailey a bear hug, and scaled the steps, he blinked at the woman who opened the door.

  “Bright, isn’t it?” Belle pointed to her new vest.

  He placed his hand on her shoulder and caressed the silk with his thumb.

  “So, you are the one who also sent me packets of cotton for my quilts.”

  “I traded for silks and velvet,” he said, looking away. “I know nothing of cottons.”

  I have my answer. He can’t look me in the eye.

  “No velvet dress?”

  “Not appropriate for someone charged with overseeing a plantation,” she said.

  “Where’s Grayson?”

  “Behind bars, I hope. I have a lot to tell you.” She moved aside for Jake to enter, but he declined.

  “That can wait. I have a gift for you.”

  “I know. I’m wearing it. Mr. Burcham gave the lovely fabrics to me.”

  “This gift won’t fit in a tea chest. Step outside and look under the magnolia.”

  A groom untied the stallions and brought them to the porch while Jake escorted Belle down the steps.

  “What magnificent animals,” Belle said. “I’ve never seen any like them.”

  Johnathan sprang in front of his mother. “Surprise!” He jumped up and down. “Lip, Lip, stallions. One is yours.”

  “He’s right,” Jake said to a startled Belle. “Bigger than a tea chest.”

  “I cannot accept such a gift.”

  “He has no way to get back to Austria. You have to keep him.”

  While Belle stroked the snorting horse and settled him down, she tried to concentrate on Jake’s news.

  “Catherine and Amelia spent the entire winter up north with Benjamin and Samuel,” he said. “While the men were out trapping for bigger game than usual, the women stayed at a fort. They’re back now and eager to see you. So are Mrs. Burcham and her children.”

  A short time later, Belle and Jake ate a meal at the formal dining table. After she completed her report of the happenings since he had been away, she shared her plans of moving. He showed no surprise and complimented her on the way she had handled the plantation and the hazards of living in a remote and wild country.

  “There’s no need for you to leave now, Belle. You’ve conquered any fears you had, your friends are back, and you have enough green velvet for a wedding dress.”

  She glared at him before she left the table.

  Turquoise and apricot streaks wedged into the dark violet clouds of evening before Belle joined Jake on the lawn where the stallions grazed. Jake thanked and dismissed the groom who had saddled and watered the spirited horses.

  Helping Belle mount her horse, Jake admired her handiwork on the vest before his voice turned deep and husky. “I want you to keep your land for your son, but continue to live at River Bend, Belle. I want to court you. Court you proper.”

  “I’ll have to ponder that,” she said. “But for today, you’ll have to catch me.” She touched her stallion’s flank with her boot. He bolted, and she urged him into a full gallop, his small hooves flying over the Texas soil.

  Jake mounted his stallion and raced after her, toward the setting sun.

  A word about the author…

  Barbara Shepherd is an award-winning writer and poet. She is the author of a children’s picture book, The Potbelly Pig Promise, a cookbook, Vittles and Vignettes, and a poetry book, Patchwork Skin. Shorter works are featured in literary journals and anthologies. She also writes screenplays, short stories, and novels. Readers say Shepherd puts them into the scene—they can see the action where well-rounded characters come alive on the page.

  As cook, baker, and candy-maker, Shepherd is a recipe tester for America’s Test Kitchen and Cook’s Country TV shows and magazines. She has been a field editor for Taste of Home magazine and their many cookbooks, a freelance columnist for Outlook and ArtBeat magazines, and the editor/publisher of four anthologies for writing groups. She was a ghostwriter and edited essays for a book about women during World War II and one on quilting.

  Also an award-winning artist, she is a traditional painter in oils and watercolor and sculpts in porcelain clay. Once a private seamstress, she now prefers to piece quilt tops when she’s not writing.

  Visit her at:

  http://barbarashepherd.com

  Thank you for purchasing

  this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  If you enjoyed the story, we would appreciate your letting others know by leaving a review.

  For other wonderful stories,

  please visit our on-line bookstore.

 

 

  nter>