Bittersweep

by Wareeze Woodson

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Afraid so. You may as well plunge into the river with a splash instead of trailing your toes in the water.”

  She nodded. “As you say.”

  “Tomorrow then.” He tipped his hat and left.

  Aware of the fall of each footstep as he strode out the door and crossed the porch, Elizabeth watched him climb back into the buckboard. She found all his leashed masculine power a trifle overwhelming. Until that moment, she’d been unaware of holding her breath. She let the air slowly escape between her teeth.

  Chapter 2

  A sensation of being under surveillance made Elizabeth turn quickly. Catching her landlady’s peculiar stare, she wondered about the unwavering inspection. To her knowledge, she’d never met the woman before.

  Mrs. Ledbetter cleared her throat, but failed to lower her gaze, or in any way alter her keen scrutiny. “He does tend to fill up a room with his presence. You being new and all, you could use a little friendly warning. Don’t go thinking of JP as a catch, him being a bachelor and all. Ladies wanting him are aplenty, him and his money.” She shook her head. “Don’t doubt me, he’s a kind man, but he doesn’t suffer fools gladly—never did. Never will by all accounts. He never lets his wealth go to his head. Why, after yellow fever hit this part of the country, he laid claim to all the abandoned property, paying the taxes to benefit the county.”

  While Elizabeth’s heart sank, she fought to keep her dismay from showing. There goes my hope of reclaiming our land. Now I’m glad I came back under a false name. Does my mother’s box belong to him too, or can I still claim it? She tried to tone down her skepticism. “To benefit the county, you say?”

  “Land sakes, child, what with him owning a thousand acres by way of a Spanish land grant to his family, why else would he do such a thing?”

  Any number of reasons came to mind, but Elizabeth refrained from mentioning acquiring land would be to his advantage. She couldn’t completely banish a spurt of resentment. Clearly enamored by JP Honeycutt, Elizabeth doubted Mrs. Ledbetter would hear anything against her former pupil.

  Mrs. Ledbetter’s eyebrows lifted. “Folks died—whole families even. Folks moved away, leaving houses vacant for years on end. It wasn’t safe to live in ’em because of the fever. One place was even burnt to the ground.”

  “On purpose?” Elizabeth asked. Her stomach churned as she recalled the acrid smell of smoke curling above the treetops all those years ago.

  “It would seem so. Can’t blame a body for being scared of the fever. Terrible times.”

  Elizabeth’s heart skipped a beat and bitterness seeped a little deeper, still she needed to understand what had truly happened. A five-year-old’s perspective couldn’t be relied upon. “What happened to the family?”

  Mrs. Ledbetter shrugged. “Don’t rightly know. It was the Clarke place, the first family to come down with the fever. What with folks panicking, some of the men set a torch to the place. Thought burning the house would stop the fever from spreading.”

  “If others already had the fever, why destroy only that house?” Elizabeth’s chest tightened with the need to blurt out question after question.

  “Some blamed the Clarkes for bringing the fever.”

  Dismayed, Elizabeth forced her tone to remain calm. “Why?”

  “No explaining it. The fever hit the Clarke family first, or so it’s reckoned, bringing death and hard times all around. The town was in shambles.”

  Elizabeth fought to control her anger. “Who burned the house?”

  “After all this time, it’s best to let sleeping dogs lie. You’re new in town, so why all the questions?”

  “Curiosity, I suppose.”

  “If you stir the pot, you might have a stinking mess instead of broth.” Mrs. Ledbetter stared at her for several minutes as the silence lengthened. Finally, she took a deep breath. “At any rate, not long afterward Mr. Honeycutt sent JP off to school back East. When he returned, he did his best to restore the town. And paying taxes to the county went a long way to help.”

  So much for finding a few answers. Elizabeth curled her lips inward and pushed the need for answers to the back of her mind. Now wasn’t the time.

  Mrs. Ledbetter shook her head and gathered the folds of her apron in her hands. “Well, I reckon you want to get settled, and I’ve bent your ear enough.” She led the way up the stairs and moved to the back of the hall to the second door on the right. “I hope you’ll be real comfortable here with me. I only have one other boarder at the moment, so everything should be quiet.” She threw her hands up and headed for the door. “There’s a lot to do and I’d better stir myself. Mind, supper is at six o’clock sharp.”

  Mrs. Ledbetter departed, and Elizabeth gazed around her large, airy room. Light spilled into the chamber from two long windows covered with lacey, tied back curtains of a filmy white material. Painted in a soft blue, the chamber soothed and invited with the promise of peace. She ran her hand over the quilt covering the spindle oak bed before moving to the dresser with a looking-glass resting on top. Admiring the pitcher and bowl with painted roses on the side, she glanced inside to discover fresh water. She allowed her curled fingers to relax. This room appeared to have all the comforts of home. A faint scent of lemon wax floated on the air.

  Sinking into the chair, she removed her bonnet and ran her fingers through her hair. As distressing as she found it, to a small degree she could understand why the town folks burned the Clarke homestead. She still had a few questions, but now it made even more sense as to the reason why her papa had failed to pay the taxes. No wonder her papa never spoke of Bittersweep or her mother again. Horrible memories for everyone concerned. He moved on with his life. Too bad his interest in his new wife and growing children had left little room for Elizabeth in the family circle.

  Depression hovered over her. Being shoved out of the nest by her papa, at the behest of his wife, had diminished her confidence. When her fiancé abandoned her in favor of a wealthy widow, the trauma soured her on men in general. She emitted a long, drawn-out sigh. Even a man wearing a wide Stetson and a pair of highly polished boots did little to sway her opinion.

  With a dismissing curl of her lips, she pushed out of the chair and began to unpack her trunk. Idle hands were the devil’s workshop, or so she’d been told time after time. She removed her personal treasures along with her clothing and carefully placed each item in the wardrobe. Although her hands were busy, her thoughts drifted back to JP Honeycutt.

  He seemed to harbor the same strength and rugged character dominant in most Texas men. Certainly a thing she admired. She hunched one shoulder against that thought. Mrs. Ledbetter had no call to warn her off. Elizabeth had as soon wed a polecat as to run after a Honeycutt.

  With little time to linger, Elizabeth arrived in the dining room at exactly six o’clock. Mrs. Ledbetter smiled her approval as she set a platter of fried chicken on the table accompanied by a pan of cornbread and collard greens. Elizabeth’s stomach grumbled with a welcoming salute to the aroma. She eyed the treat before her with pleasure. “It smells delicious.”

  Mrs. Ledbetter grinned and glanced at the clock on the wall. “Sit yourself down. My Betty is always late. It’s enough to make a body want to shout at her, but it likely wouldn’t do a lick of good.” She motioned to a chair on one side of the table. “I’ll give her exactly three more minutes. Then we shall start without her. No sense in letting good food turn cold while we wait.” She cast a glance at the door and grimaced. “My other boarder is the bank clerk, Mr. Plunkett. He’s late too, but he knows the rules well enough.”

  At that moment, a young lady, a lovely blonde with huge green eyes and dressed in the latest fashion of pink organza, floated into the room. Perfume reached the table before she did. “I’m so sorry I’m late, Mama. Scrambling into this outfit took longer than I t
hought. Do you like it? Will it do for the dance? Do you think JP will like it?” She whirled around waiting for approval.

  “Its lovely, my dear, but surely to goodness, you don’t intend to wear it to supper and the dance. What if you stain it?”

  “You are a wonder with such, so I shouldn’t have a qualm about wearing my gown now and then as well, but I’ll change to make you happy, Mama.” She exited the room in a flash leaving a trail of scent behind her.

  Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. So Mrs. Ledbetter has a daughter. She wondered how Mr. Honeycutt figured into the daughter’s dreams for the future.

  The closing of the front door announced the arrival of a fresh-faced young man dressed in a dark jacket and trousers. He took the stairs two at a time and returned shortly having shed his suit jacket and combed his hair. He offered an apologetic smile. “Please excuse my tardiness. I couldn’t balance the cash drawer.”

  “Perfectly all right.” Without missing a beat, Mrs. Ledbetter continued, “Mr. Franklin Plunkett, I’d like to introduce you to Miss Elizabeth Campbell. The new schoolmarm.”

  “How do.” He slid into his seat across the table from Elizabeth and cleared his throat. “Is Miss Betty joining us?”

  Mrs. Ledbetter gave him a sharp look. “We shall not wait on her convenience, sir. And I’d appreciate it if you would not try to turn her head with your flattery.”

  Franklin’s ears turned a bright red and he ducked his head. Obviously older than he appeared, however the schoolteacher in Mrs. Ledbetter could still intimidate him. He scowled at her. “I shall ask her to dance with me at the party. Naturally with your permission.”

  “Keep that smooth tongue behind your teeth and I’ll allow it. But no more than two dances. Mr. Honeycutt shall want to standup with her as well.”

  “Which Mr. Honeycutt?” Franklin mumbled in a low voice. “I understand JP is escorting Miss Valeria Landow personally. So that leaves one of his twin brothers.”

  Mrs. Ledbetter sniffed and sent a disgruntled smile around the table. “JP should choose a wife and settle the matter. Most every female in the county has thrown out the handkerchief for him. So far, he hasn’t picked one up, but Valeria has the lead.”

  Light footsteps sounded in the hall and with a glare in Franklin’s direction, Mrs. Ledbetter instructed in a no-nonsense voice, “No more shall be said on the subject.”

  Elizabeth smothered a laugh. It seemed several unattached ladies were vying for JP’s attention. How could it be otherwise? Even she could see the attraction, and she had no interest in the man—cowboy, rich rancher, or not. She didn’t hate all men exactly, she merely found most unworthy of trust. Straightening her spine, she vowed to avoid him whenever possible. Nothing would ever be allowed to stand in the way of her discovering the truth about her past.

  Chapter 3

  JP would be the first to admit the new teacher’s appeal hit him squarely between the eyes, her trim figure, her lovely face, and the graceful way she carried herself. Certain he’d never met the lovely Elizabeth before, he wondered why her eyes, at least the color, seemed familiar, compelling with the ability to enchant. Looking deeply into her eyes had held him spellbound. At the edge of his consciousness, something drifted, deeply buried.

  He shook his head to clear it. No need to moon over a pretty face. Besides, she was standoffish, or had taken him in dislike immediately. He didn’t know which. Perhaps concern for her new position made her overly cautious. He frowned. She certainly hadn’t demonstrated a prudent nature by her foolish actions earlier.

  Still, he had other worrying matters that needed a look see. A cow now and then, along with a few calves occasionally came up missing. He had to find out where and how the herd was being thinned. A couple of days ago, he’d noticed tracks leading down the lane to the old Clarke place.

  Now wasn’t the time to follow a clue, but on a whim, he headed the buckboard down the path. Normally he avoided the place, but today an uncontrollable urge drew him there. He could see what was left of the chimney through the trees, a smoke-blackened beacon of reckoning. It stood as a monument to fear. The Clarkes had brought yellow fever to Bittersweep and the Clarke family paid. He shook his head at the tragedy.

  He had been only twelve years of age, but he would never forget the young child gazing up at him with tear filled eyes. Lifting her onto the seat of the wagon with her baby sister in her arms fell to him, and that task marked him. He’d never forget her eyes, her larkspur blue eyes.

  He had always wondered what happened to her. He’d mourned his sister lost to the fever, but not like his papa. Crazed with grief, Papa didn’t seem to care what happened to the young girl and her family, but JP cared.

  Those memories lingered to this day. Perhaps the sound of the crackling fire eating the house and knowing the child’s deceased mother remained inside imprinted the image on his brain even more than the dainty girl. The sickening smell still haunted him, and he clenched his jaw. Continuing down the twisting lane toward the homestead, the rumble of the wheels mocked him. Burn, burn, burn. Unable to change the past, he pushed the unpleasant thoughts aside.

  The report of a rifle jolted him out of his reflections as dust kicked up in front of his horses. “What the . . .”

  Drawing his pistol, he ducked down and rapidly twisted the reins around the brake handle. He peered over the back of the seat, searching for the gunman. Had some idiot shot across the road, or had someone aimed at him?

  Another report from the rifle sounded and a red-hot wire of pain seared across the top of his shoulder. A buckboard had little chance of outrunning a mounted man, but he regained his seat, twisted the reins lose, and urged his team into a dead run. The buckboard skidded as he swerved behind the ruined chimney seeking the scant cover it provided. With his pistol in hand, he searched the area for any sign of the culprit. Catching a glimpse of the assailant’s sleeve moving through the brush on his right, he pulled off a shot, and bark splintered off a tall pine tree. Firing again, he heard a yelp. Seconds later, the drum of hooves exploded into retreat as the shooter fled.

  “Run, you rotten coward!” he yelled. “I’ll get you sooner or later.” Outraged that the man had dared shoot at him, he shook his fist toward the woods. Fierce possessiveness swelled inside him. Since the day the cabin burned, he’d experienced a personal connection with the homestead.

  The Clarke place is part of the Rocking H now. The stinking varmint better stay off my land.

  The sting in his shoulder brought his attention to the blood seeping through his shirt. “Damn.”

  Furious with himself for his lack of alertness, he drove the buckboard back to the Rocking H. He’d allowed the past to overshadow the present.

  Three long blasts from a cow horn calling the hunting dogs to heel told him his twin brothers were nearing the ranch house. Earlier in the day, he’d sent them out in search of a small band of wolves slinking around the herd. Now, he wanted bigger game, the shooter.

  Still frustrated that he’d only winged the bandit, he dismounted at the stable yard and stomped toward the house. The familiar sight of his much-loved home soothed his ragged nerves. The mansion, with white columns supporting balconies on two levels, stretched three stories high and stood among several white oak trees. He took a deep breath.

  The burn across the top of his shoulder brought it home to him that all of this was his responsibility to guard, to hold, and protect. Every blade of grass, every stone or brick, and every living creature on the place belonged to him and his twin brothers. In the distance, a rooster crowed. Yes, even you, ya dumb bird. You announced the rising of the sun hours ago.

  JP entered the back door and stepped onto the polished floorboard that squeaked under his weight. Someday, he intended to have one of the hands fix it. The smell of gingerbread reached out of the kitchen down the hall. The aroma announced his aunt’s wherea
bouts, the kitchen.

  “Aunt Maude,” he called.

  Maude came from the back of the house, wiping her hands on her apron. The spicy scent of the gingerbread clung to her. A few wisps of gray hair stuck to her hot cheeks. “Land sakes, JP, there’s no reason to yell. And what are you doing roaring in here with your boots on the clean floor?” Her glare traveled up his frame, stopping at the stain spreading through his shirt. She clasped her hands at her chest and gasped, “You have blood on you. What happened?”

  “Someone took a potshot at me.” He held up his hands. “It’s just a graze. Nothing to get excited about, but I’d be obliged if you would slap a bandage on it.”

  “I declare, you men folk will be the death of me. Coming in here all shot up and without a single grandchild to my name. What’s a body to do with you? All right, to be exact, nary a niece or nephew in sight.” She flounced down the hall. “Come on into the kitchen and sit yourself down.”

  She bustled around gathering all the items she needed and placed everything on the table. Windows blazed with sunlight streaking into the already overheated kitchen. The smell of baking was stronger here even with the windows raised.

  JP glanced around before sitting at the table. “If hell’s any hotter than this, I’d hate to go there.”

  “Most likely hell’s a lot hotter and the road to get there is wide. You’d better mind your steps.”

  The back door banged shut and shuffling boots scraped the wooden floor. Raised voices reached the kitchen. Hamilton and Hudson pushed into the room smelling of leather, horses, and outdoors.

  “Gingerbread.” Hudson demanded, “Hand me a glass of sweet milk and get out of my way.” He caught sight of JP. “What happened . . .”