The Marriage Agreement

by Carolyn Davidson

  So, he’d come back in triumph to their room, certain he would find her still sleeping, only to realize that she’d trotted herself out of town while he’d been tending to business.

  “She’s in the clear, May. For all the good it does now. Hell, she doesn’t even know that it’s safe for her out there. I don’t want her hiding out, thinking the law’s on her trail.”

  “I told her you’d follow her,” May offered. “She seems to think you can’t catch up with her, though. She said she was good at covering up her tracks.”

  “I’m better.” His jaw clenched as Morgan thought of Lily facing the perils of the road by herself. “Is she on foot?” he asked.

  May shrugged. “I don’t know. I doubt she had money enough for a horse and buggy.”

  “Damn!” Morgan’s thoughts spun toward the livery stable. “I’ll bet you she took my buggy. That little—” His descriptive phrase was too acerbic to be spoken aloud, and he swallowed the words. “Thanks, May,” he called back over his shoulder as he headed for the stairway.

  She leaned from the room behind him, and her final words were a revelation to him. “River Bend, Morgan. That’s where she’s going. It must be the name of her family’s plantation.”

  He skidded to a stop and turned on his heel, returning to her with long strides. His hands clasped her waist and he picked her up in the air, lowering her until his mouth found her cheek and left a kiss there. “I won’t forget you for this,” he murmured as he set her down again.

  The livery stable was forthcoming with the information he sought. Indeed, his mare and the buggy he’d left there were gone. The man had assumed that Morgan’s wife had the right to use the vehicle. Yes, she’d been gone over an hour now. And then the gentleman found himself in the midst of negotiations as Morgan dickered for the price of a gelding that was for sale.

  He’d paid too much, Morgan thought as he placed his single piece of baggage behind the saddle and tied it in place. But when a man was over a barrel he did whatever he had to in order to survive. And finding Lily was a matter of survival, as far as he was concerned.

  It was four miles or so down the road when the horse began to limp, and Morgan lifted himself from the saddle. A shoe was loose, and the animal stood with that foot lifted, unable to go any farther. Four long miles to walk, and no time to spare, Morgan thought. Swallowing his frustration, he turned back to Brightmoor and led the horse to the livery stable.

  “It’ll be a bit,” the man, who doubled as a blacksmith, told him. “I’m in the middle of a job.”

  Morgan resisted the urge to lift the husky fellow up by his shirt front, and pulled a two-dollar piece from his pocket instead. “This says my horse gets tended first,” he said quietly. “Especially since you sold him to me with a loose shoe.”

  The coin was snatched from Morgan’s hand and the gelding was tied in the doorway. Within thirty minutes, a new shoe was in place and the remaining three had been checked and double-checked with capable hands.

  For the second time within three hours, Morgan left town, hoping against hope that he would be able to pick up the tracks Lily had surely left behind. The road was rutted and he rode to one side on the grass, keeping his mount free of the rough track. He rode at a steady pace, not willing to push the gelding too hard, lest he tire before the day was barely begun.

  The sun was hot and he cherished the shade as he passed through a wooded area. He’d traveled at least six miles, he figured, a good way beyond his first journey on this road.

  The wagon tracks were old, for the most part, but fresh droppings from a horse caught his eye as he watched for new hoofprints in the dirt. If they were from the mare, Lily could not be too far ahead of him, and he picked up the pace, nudging his gelding into a lope as he looked ahead, hoping for a glimpse of the buggy.

  By the time he’d reached the next town, almost twenty miles south of Brightmoor, his temper was on a fine edge and he drew to a halt before the sheriff’s office. A sturdy lawman watched him from the doorway, and Morgan nodded a silent greeting. Tilting his hat from his face and leaning on the saddle horn, he asked a question.

  “Have you seen a woman alone, driving a buggy, come through here in the past little bit? I’m trying to catch up with my wife and I don’t like the idea of her being by herself on the road. She’s off to visit her folks and I decided I’d better tag along.” Close enough to the truth, it rang with sincerity, Morgan decided, and he plastered a smile on his face for the other man’s benefit.

  “Can’t say that I have,” the fellow answered. “Nobody’s gone past that I’ve noticed anyway. You might stop at the general store, see if they’ve caught sight of her.”

  Morgan nodded and directed his gelding to the building the lawman pointed to, walking inside quickly. His query was met by a blank stare and then a brisk shake of the storekeeper’s head.

  “Naw, I ain’t seen anybody special. If it was a stranger, I’d have noticed. Don’t miss much of what goes on around here.”

  Morgan nodded his thanks and led his horse to a watering trough before he mounted and rode from town. He began to feel some doubts as to the value of his plan, yet surely Lily had headed south. She’d have no reason to go back the way they’d come, and with the buggy it was unlikely she’d take off cross-country. It would be necessary to stick to the road.

  By nightfall he was ready to call it a day. Tired and grumpy and more than a little worried, he staked his gelding by a stream and stretched out on the bank to sleep. The sun would waken him early on, he figured, and with the abundant grass available all around him, the horse would be well-fed for the day.

  Finding Lily was turning out to be a more difficult task than he’d thought, and he recognized the fear he felt for her well-being. The evening had turned blessedly cool, and he was relieved to know she had her shawl with her. Whether she had sought shelter in the open or in someone’s barn, he could only hope she was safe.

  Old habits stood him in good stead and he tugged his hat brim over his eyes, aware that the horse would alert him should anyone approach. He’d do better to rest for a couple of hours and then go on.

  Chapter Sixteen

  A direct route would have been faster, but Lily chose instead to weave a trail Morgan would have difficulty in following. A flat-bottomed ferry boat provided her with a safe crossing of the big river, even though she clung in fear to the horse’s harness for the whole of the journey. Traveling on the eastern route, she stayed for two nights at hotels along the way, slept in the open while curled on the buggy seat and finally reached Vicksburg, road-weary and aching in every joint.

  The ferry there was a bit larger, carrying the horse and buggy on board with ease, and when they reached the far shore, she felt a lightening of her heartache as she neared River Bend. The sorrow she’d lived with over the past days seemed relieved as each mile brought her closer to the home she’d left behind five long years ago.

  Surely Mama and Susanna would be busy in the house. Her father might be in the stable with his horses, and perhaps there were even now workers in the fields, tending the cotton. And yet, she thought with a tinge of sadness, the people of the plantation might no longer be there. They’d been freed, and many had chosen to strike out on their own. Only the promise of work and a living to sustain them would have tempted some of them to remain.

  The small towns she traveled through were changed, indefinably, but with a sense of despair apparent on the faces of many. Life was not easy. It was the message she read in the eyes and countenances of both men and women going about their daily lives. The thought of River Bend having changed to that extent made her anxious to arrive at her destination, and when the long lane of live oak trees formed before her, she found tears spilling from her eyes.

  Her mare sounded a loud whinny, and it was answered by several horses in the near pasture. A tall, black mare kept pace with the buggy, and Lily admired the lean, long-legged beauty, not recognizing it from the past. Things would have changed, she thoug
ht reluctantly. No matter how badly she wanted it to be the same, she might not receive a welcome from her family.

  They’d not understood why she left, and she had not told them. The sacrifice she’d made had been her own choice, and she would not, even now, lay the burden of it on those she loved.

  The house appeared to be the same, although it looked to be needing a fresh coat of paint. A young woman, vibrant chestnut-colored hair braided into a long pigtail, stood on the veranda as Lily approached, lifting a hand to shade her eyes as she inspected the buggy and its occupant.

  “Hello,” she called out, and stepped down to greet the mare with an uplifted hand. Her attention all on the horse, she patted the animal’s nose and murmured soft words of approval. Then she looked up at Lily. “I don’t believe I recognize you, although your face seems familiar. I’m Katherine Devereaux. Welcome to River Bend.” From behind the screened door a small boy called a greeting.

  “Mama? Is that Aunt Jenny?” he asked.

  “No, sweetheart,” Katherine Devereaux answered.

  “I’m another aunt,” Lily told him, fearful of the lack of welcome she might receive today.

  Katherine turned back to her, eyes wide as her gaze scanned Lily’s face. “Don’t tell me. You’re Yvonne, aren’t you?” Her mouth turned up in a smile that Lily thought could have rivaled the sun. “Oh, my! Wait till Mama knows you’ve come home. And Roan, too.” She reached up to touch Lily’s hand. “Come on in, won’t you?”

  The buggy seat was high, but Lily slid down easily, only the aching of sore muscles a deterrent to her progress. “I didn’t know if I’d be welcome,” she murmured. “It’s been a long time since I left.”

  Katherine smiled quickly and nodded assurance. “Roan worried about the same thing when we came home. And we’ve never left since.” She gripped Lily’s arm and hustled her toward the porch. “And you won’t have heard about Shay and Jenny either.”

  “Shay?” The name was not a familiar one, and Lily was puzzled.

  “Your brother, Gaeton. He’s called Shay nowadays, and he’s living a day’s journey away with his wife and their brand-new baby daughter. Just wait till you meet Jenny. You’ll love her.”

  A dark-skinned woman pushed the screened door open and Lily looked into the familiar face of the woman who had been a part of her life forever, it seemed.

  “Susanna!” she cried aloud, and was welcomed with a warm smile and a firm arm around her waist in greeting. Susanna’s other arm was filled with a baby, probably six months old or so, if Lily could be any judge of the matter.

  “My second son, Jonathan,” Katherine said by way of introduction, taking the wiggling infant from Susanna’s embrace.

  “Do we have callers?” another woman asked from beyond a wide doorway. Cultured, and containing the melodic sounds of this area, it was a familiar voice from her past and Lily’s heart began to beat rapidly.

  “Mama?” she whispered, and took the three steps necessary to reach the parlor doors. A slender, still-lovely Letitia Devereaux looked at her from across the room.

  “Yvonne.” Not a query, but a statement of fact, Letitia spoke her name, biting at her lip, and hesitating where she stood. “Have you come back to stay?” she asked softly.

  “I’m home,” Lily answered. And wanting to set things to rights, she spoke boldly. “I’m using my middle name now, Mama. I’m called Lily.”

  “It was your grandmama’s name, child,” Letitia said after a long moment. “It suits you. But I don’t know if your papa will get used to it. He’s kind of a creature of habit, you know.”

  The space between them measured about a dozen feet, but it seemed to be an insurmountable gap as Lily awaited her mother’s pleasure. “Is there a place for me here?” she asked, hoping against hope that she had not come in vain.

  “There’s always room for my children…Lily.” The name slipped from Letitia’s lips easily and then she moved forward, arms outstretched, eyes aglow with tears. “My dear child,” she whispered, holding fast to the daughter she’d thought gone forever.

  “What’s going on?” The voice was gruff, deep, and belonged to her brother, Lily decided, wiping her eyes quickly before she turned to face him.

  “Roan?” she said, reluctant to assume he would be happy to see her. “I’ve come home.”

  He watched her from dark eyes, his mouth a flat line, his manner forbidding. And then as Lily watched, Katherine’s hand lifted to touch his arm, and she stepped closer to him, speaking softly. “Roan, I’m so pleased to have another sister. Give Lily a hug.”

  “Lily?” He turned the name over in his mouth and for a moment Lily feared he would deny her the right of its use. “She’s not Yvonne any longer?”

  “She was named for your grandmama, Roan. It’s Yvonne’s middle name. She has a right to it,” his mother said quickly. “You didn’t squawk when Gaeton came riding up with everyone calling him Shay, did you?”

  Lily felt the years as a heavy weight on her shoulders as Roan’s eyes took her measure. “You’ve changed,” he said. And then his mouth softened. “Welcome home, Lily.” Katherine looked up into his face and her smile was brilliant, Lily decided. Definitely the best thing that could have happened to Roan Devereaux was marrying this woman who gazed at him with eyes of love.

  “Do you want to talk about the Yankee now or later?” Roan said calmly. “Do I need to plan on getting my gun out? Will he be paying us a visit?”

  “No, he’s been here once, and that was enough, as far as I’m concerned,” Lily told him. “He’s long gone, and if you want to know about him, I’ll tell all of you the whole story at one time.”

  “Did he hurt you?” Gone was the flash of condemnation in his eyes. Instead Lily caught a glimpse of the brother she’d loved and looked up to for so many years.

  Lily shot him a scornful look and laughed. “I don’t carry any scars,” she said.

  “Some wounds don’t leave outward traces,” Katherine told her, even as her frown sent a silent warning to Roan. “Some do.”

  Lily felt her legs tremble beneath her and she sought the security of the sofa. “I think I’m a little tired,” she said with a smile that asked for understanding. “Do you think Susanna might have some tea I could drink, Mama?”

  “I already got it for you, missy,” the woman said, coming from the hallway with a pitcher in one hand and three glasses in the other. Lily took one of the glasses and watched as Susanna poured the tea, and then she took a long swallow.

  “Now I know I’m home,” she murmured, and to the astonishment of those watching, she settled the glass on the table in front of her—just before her eyes rolled back in her head and she slid limply to her side on the sofa.

  “River Bend? That’s the Devereaux place, inland just a bit,” the farmer said politely. “You lookin’ for the old man, LeRoy or his boy, Roan?”

  “Actually, I’m looking for the daughter,” Morgan answered.

  The farmer scratched his head and then shook it mournfully. “You’re likely out of luck then, mister. Yvonne left here a long time ago, before the war was done. Went off with some Yankee colonel. Hasn’t been seen or heard from since, far as I know.”

  “I think she’s headed this way,” Morgan told him. “She’s my wife.”

  “Your wife? You ain’t no Yankee, boy.”

  “Nope, I’m surely not. I’m from Texas,” Morgan answered.

  “Well, if your woman’s at River Bend, you’ll know soon enough,” the farmer said. “It’s about three miles the other side of town, and town’s about a mile or so down this road. You oughta make it by suppertime if you move right along.” He waved a hand in farewell as Morgan touched his gelding with his heels. “Hope you find your wife there,” the man called out.

  “Yeah.” The single word fell from his lips as Morgan waved in return, and he felt a moment of fear as he considered his next move, should Lily not be at River Bend. He’d counted deeply on tracing her to this place, and should she not be at th
e end of this trail, he was faced with a long journey back, tracking her with very little to go on.

  How she would welcome him was another matter. In fact, whether she welcomed him at all was a question he’d rather put on the back burner. First came getting there. Then he’d deal with the woman who’d been causing him no end of trouble over the past few days.

  The town was nondescript, already about closed up for the night, with the exception of a dingy saloon. He rode down the single main street quickly, aware that he was the subject of covert stares from a few folks. Others outright ignored him, but for one man who waved a hand in passing. Morgan returned the gesture and rode on.

  He’d just about decided that he’d somehow missed a turnoff when a long line of live oak trees on either side of a lane took his interest. As he neared, he caught sight of a weather-beaten sign that designated the place as River Bend. The lane bore to the left and he followed it across flat land for a quarter of a mile and then, where it took a turn to the right, he halted his gelding and leaned forward for a more leisurely appraisal.

  The plantation house was still standing, and beyond it were barns and outbuildings, with a large garden off to one side. A few chickens squawked loudly as a dog chased them toward a pen and Morgan smiled in spite of himself. A man in overalls stood in the wide barn doorway and watched his approach, his skin dark, his manner friendly.

  “Evenin’, mister,” the fellow said politely. “You lookin’ for Mr. LeRoy? Or maybe Mr. Roan?”

  “Could be,” Morgan told him, sliding from his horse. “Are they around?”

  “In the house,” the man told him. “I’m Jethro, the fella kinda in charge of the animals around here. I’ll take that horse if you’ve a mind to stay for a spell.”

  “I don’t know if the woman I’m looking for is here or not,” Morgan told Jethro. “My wife is headed this way and I’m hoping to find her.”

  “Your wife?” Jethro looked puzzled. “Only women here are Miss Letitia and Miss Katherine.” He grinned widely. “And I pert’ near forgot. Miss Yvonne came riding up just yesterday. Haven’t got used to the idea of her bein’ back yet.”