Gone to Texas: Cross Timbers Romance Family Saga, book one (Thanksgiving Books & Blessings Collection One 1)

by Caryl McAdoo

  “Why, that's mighty kind of you. There's a feedbag and grain in the saddlebag.” He handed his reins over. “I thank you kindly.” Shortly, the stranger had himself a bowl of beans, a nice slab of cornbread, and a steaming cup of coffee.

  “Where you from, Mister?” Aaron sat cross-legged at the man's feet, Stormy's head across one thigh. Rich took the place near the dog's tail.

  “Well, young man, been in Texas over ten year now, but last spring, I went north and east to fetch my big sisters and their husbands. They finally decided they might try their hand at farming.” He winked at Corbin. “Think the headrights being offered had a little to do with it, too.”

  “Where are they now? Close?”

  “Oh, the oldest, Sukey—well, her real name's Shoshanna. Hebrew for rose. Anyway, she married a preacher man, and the Reverend George Hunter decided the good folks in Fannin County needed to have themselves a camp meeting before coming on down.”

  “Really?” Liberty could hardly believe her ears. “So, you and your sisters' families are planning on settling near here?”

  “Yes, ma'am. Ran into a fella in Arkansas said he's coming to these parts in the spring to set up a trading post along the Trinity.”

  “Oh, that’s wonderful.”

  “I was through this way couple of years back—riding with the Rangers back then—but then with the Indians, pushed west. I figured this was the place to be. With my military headright and their two fourth-class ones, we need to find some wide-open space.”

  “Well, let me welcome you. I'm Liberty O'Neal.” She pointed. “My son Flynn, his new bride Alicia.”

  “My oldest daughter,” Mallory interjected. “Welcome!”

  “That's Mallory Van Zandt, my best friend since we were children.” She pointed again. “And my daughter, Charity Grace. I lost my husband to a snakebite early on the journey. My brother Laud was the one took your horse. It will be lovely to have you as neighbors.”

  “So, you're thinking to settle around the Trinity?” Seve's tone still carried a standoffishness. Men.

  “Yes, sir. The trading post, rich river bottomland, plenty of water. Besides, East Texas is about claimed out. Only small patches available are available.”

  Corbin spoke up. “How many acres is a military headright?”

  “Same as a first-class.”

  Laud walked up and chimed in. “That so? How'd you get it?”

  The man eyed her brother hard as if he was prying or something then shrugged. “I was with Houston at San Jacinto. After that, rode with the Rangers.”

  “I see.” Laud leaned back in his chair. “Interesting.”

  “We've marked our boundaries.” Seve stood. “I've got a map if you care to have a look.”

  “I would, most definitely.”

  For the longest, with lanterns hung and shining bright, Seve and Mister Baldwin poured over the map. It surprised the man that the piece of paper came from Levi Baylor himself by way of the Titus Trading Post.

  Surprised him even more to discover the boys had themselves a Blue Dog pup.

  A light rain began falling, chasing everyone into a wagon, except Mister Baldwin who set a little slicker tent Flynn helped him throw up.

  Liberty got out her journal out and noted the arrival of what she hoped would be the clan’s first new neighbors. She had gotten the name of the other sister out of the man.

  Cordelia Ferrell was her full name, but Thomas said everyone called her Dillie. All told, he reported five nieces and nephews between them, but he couldn't recall all their names.

  Glancing over that day's page, it dawned on her there were only two more days until November. Then before she knew it, it would be 1841.

  Her life was racing by.

  The rain let up some, and Isabel came by with more of her blessed balm and fixed her up so good, she didn't even get her medicine bottle out. She drifted off, thinking about what Reagan had told her in her dream.

  She hadn't thought about his one indiscretion in years, though she wanted to kill him at the time. He'd been so remorseful.

  Praise the Good Lord! He gave her grace enough to forgive her husband. That had been a turning point in his life. He eventually accepted the Lord's forgiveness as well and was a much better man for it. She loved how God did that. Similar in a way to Corbin's transformation. Or could she even make such a comparison?

  Did she really even begin to know Mister Harrell like she knew Reagan?

  Even with the rain, Corbin and the others still took their turn standing watch, what with a stranger in their midst. Next morning, Friday, October 30 by Lib's journal, after Mister Baldwin headed out, everyone worked on shaping more timber for purlin.

  Seve made a good point about how Stormy had known Thomas was coming before anyone heard him. Laud pointed his draw shave at Seve. “Best three dollars we ever spent.”

  Flynn laughed. “Amen.”

  Seve kept on drawing his shave over the wood. “With the dog, I'm thinking we might not have to stand watches.” He raised up and looked around. “What do you men think?”

  Corbin pointed his wood chisel at his friend. “I trust the mutt. He is one fine animal.”

  Both Laud and Flynn agreed.

  Not that it mattered. Corbin slept light now that he'd stopped drinking.

  That evening after supper, instead of sitting a little fire, the widow invited him to come stand at the back of her wagon, but to first give her and Isabel a little private time. Once his new daughter climbed down, he eased over and tapped on her sideboard.

  “Tie the flap back, please, kind sir.”

  He did. She looked radiant, leaning against her seed sacks, bathed in the soft lantern light. “How was your day?”

  “Oh, so much fun.” She laughed. “Making shingles is hard. Did you see the pile I had?”

  “Yes, ma'am. A square at the least.”

  “Is that a lot?”

  He grinned but moved his head side to side a bit. “You'll do better.”

  “Did you hear Mister Baldwin going on and on about your barn?”

  “Some, but it isn't mine, it's ours.” He leaned in a bit. “Yours really. If not for you—”

  “Watch out, Corbin. Pride goes before destruction, and it was the Lord Who saved you, not me.”

  “Yes, ma'am, but without your mouth speaking the truth to me, and your prayers, and then leading me to Him . . . no telling where I'd be.”

  A silence accentuated the night symphony of frogs and crickets, owls, and mockingbirds. Was she thinking about him being somewhere else? Might it be a deplorable thought?

  “Enough of that.” She held her hand up. “What are those cross boards called? The ones nailed onto the rafters. And what are they for?”

  “That’s called purlin. It’s what we'll nail the shingles to.”

  “Oh. It's looking so good. I'm going to love it so much when we can turn it into a church building.”

  “That's a ways off.” He removed his hat and pointed it at her. “Did you hear that Baldwin's brother-in-law is a minister?”

  Liberty waited to answer to see if he planned on saying more, but he let the question hang. “Yes, I did hear that.”

  “Seems to me the Lord is paving the way.”

  Most certainly, being ready to talk about them being anything more than friends just hadn't happened, no matter how much he wanted it. “For you to finish the barn?” She smiled.

  “Yes, ma'am, I guess. I was only saying . . .”

  She hiked one shoulder. “Looks like we swallowed that little daub of rain we got last night easy enough. I expected it to be muddier today but wasn't much at all.”

  “We could use more, but if I get my druthers, I'll take another week or two of dry.”

  “You really think you can finish it that quick?”

  “Not the whole thing, but we should be able to get it dried in by then.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Have the roof on the main hall.”

  �
��Oh.” He knew so much about building. Praise the Lord, Flynn and Laud were learning so much from the man. “You're going to finish that before you start on the sides?”

  “Yes, ma'am.”

  “I see. Then may the clouds hold their rain until we are . . .” She looked at him, questioning. “Dried in?”

  “That's right. Did I ever tell you you're a fast learner?”

  Picking up her Bible, she grinned. “Ready for me to read?”

  “Always. How about Ecc . . . Eccle . . ?”

  “Ecclesiastes?”

  “Sounds like the one.”

  “All right, certainly. Would you like to hear the whole book or a chapter or two then we can talk about it?”

  “Maybe a chapter at a time, and you can explain it.”

  She found the place and began reading.

  It pleased Liberty that Corbin got nine whole days of dry. Then when the rain did come late Saturday, the ninth day of November, the barn's roof was better than half shingled.

  The General Carpenter about wore her and everyone else to the nub, getting that far along. But wow. The barn was truly looking grand.

  Though good and muddy after what measured to be two inches of water, services in the north half of the barn remained high and dry. She could only imagine what it would be like with pews and the house full of God-fearing folks singing His praises.

  That Sunday night, she sat in the barn with Corbin next to a little fire he'd built. A lantern hung from a brace he'd mortised into the pole. She loved the heavy timbers. Hopefully, he'd never cover those up, even when it became a house of God.

  He helped her into the rocker then took his seat across from her. “Isabel said you’re good as new.”

  Her cheeks warmed. Because he and his new girl had been talking about her? Or what she knew she needed to tell him? She hated to broach the subject, but the thought of going back to the way she'd been . . . It turned her innards into a knot.

  “Something wrong?”

  “Yes, yes indeed. Oh, Corbin. I am better, and for a fact, I'd forgotten how wonderful, uh . . . well . . .” Why was she having so much trouble telling him?

  “Spit it out, Liberty. What is it bothering you?”

  “You, Corbin. It's you.”

  “Me? What'd I do? I . . . I . . . thought things were good. I mean . . . between us.”

  “It's just that . . . I can't stand the thought of you not having a son. But, oh mercy, even worse than that, I can't be the one to give him to you.”

  There. She'd got it out. Now he knew, and—

  “That doesn't matter. Not that much. I love you, Liberty Hope. You giving me a son . . . I mean . . . it would have been an extra blessing, but dear lady, you will not get shed of me that easy. Even if all I can have is your friendship—not your love—then I'll take that. And be satisfied.”

  “But Corbin. You're still a young man. And you're so talented. You have so much to offer, and I know how badly you want a son. What man doesn't? Oh, dear sir, there are a lot of women out there. Ladies younger than me who would jump at the chance to live out their lives with you. By your side. Who would gladly bear you many sons.”

  “I don't want any of them, Liberty. Not a one. On account of I love you.” He reached across the chasm between her and him and covered her hand.

  “Nothing will ever change that.” He used that hand then to toss his hat over his boot's toe. “I understand your reluctance. I do. But we can . . . uh . . . well. You know what I'm talking about . . . do whatever is necessary to keep you from getting pregnant.”

  So, what if she did that? Some five or ten years later . . . when his heart's desire to pass on what he knew to a son . . . Would he be thinking the same thing? “Corbin, in your mind, you've made me out to be some perfect woman. I assure you though, I am not. You've only seen the best of me, but . . . “

  Grabbing his hat, he tossed it back on then held his hands up, palms forward toward her. “Stop. I'll take whatever! Better, worse, richer, poorer, sickness, health . . . isn't that what the vows are?”

  “Yes, sir.” This wasn't going well.

  “And unless you've forgotten, I have two grandchildren on the way. Even Isabel's babe is blood kin, so I could have two boys before long. And Flynn and Alicia will be giving you a baby soon, we don't need our own. We'll have plenty to love.”

  “Speaking of babies, Isabel asked me to talk with Gabrielle.”

  “About what?”

  “She wants her to know it was Junior.”

  “What brought that on?”

  “Thomas Baldwin. Isabel caught the man making eyes at your daughter that first night he came. I ascertained she's hoping that once Gabrielle knows the truth about Junior—him being so rotten and all—maybe she could find it in her heart to love another man.”

  “Did you notice this Baldwin guy flirting with Gabrielle?”

  “No, I was obviously oblivious, but Esther, Mallory, and Alicia confirmed it. I was back in my wagon before it got flagrant.”

  “How did Gabrielle handle it?”

  “Apparently, she looked away like she wasn't interested at all. But I hear the man could hardly keep his eyes off her.”

  “Humph. Anyways, I figured Baldwin and his sisters would be here before now.”

  “They may have decided to go elsewhere or even stayed there in Fannin County.” Was that what she really hoped? Or just thought? Seemed the Lord sending a preacher to be a neighbor would definitely be a sign.

  But of what?

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Liberty waited two days before saying anything to Gabrielle, but the exact right time nor words showed themselves anyway. Wednesday afternoon rolled around, and for various and sundry reasons, she found herself with only Corbin's two daughters, making shingles.

  With a nod toward Gabrielle, dear Isabel took her leave.

  “I best be going to check on Miss Esther. See iffin she need any help.”

  After the young woman left, Liberty filled her lungs. “There's something I need to tell you, sweetheart.”

  The young lady struck her hatchet with the mallet, splitting off a nice shingle from the cedar block. She looked up and laughed. “Is this about you and my pap? I'm good with you and him marrying, Miss Liberty. Real good.”

  For some reason, that declaration relieved her. She liked hearing it. Or did she? “No, dear. It's about . . . Isabel. She's asked me to tell you a thing that she couldn't bring herself to.”

  “What? Why wouldn't she be able to?” The young lady stared with wonder written across her face. “What are you talking about, Miss Liberty?”

  “Well, she says that from the signs the old mammy taught her . . . that she's . . . well, she's farther along than she hoped.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” The girl scooted to the edge of her chair, looking like a trapped animal. “Carrying a baby, isn't less time than expected a blessing? She could have told me that. I don't understand.”

  “You see, Gabrielle, having less time means . . .” Nothing to do but spit it out. “That Junior is her babe's pap.”

  Her face went through a gamut of emotions from confusion to shock to anger then sorrow and back to anger. In the midst of her turmoil, she melted back into her chair then she sprang forward. “That's a lie! He wouldn't do that. She's lying.”

  “No, sweetheart. You see, men have been forcing slaves for hundreds if not thousands of years. She said he came to her cabin that very first night he and his pap showed.”

  Gabrielle sat back again, her heart breaking in two. “But . . . No! I won't believe it. Why would she say such a thing? It has to be a lie, and we'll know for sure in a few months. Her baby is going to be black as tar, just like her and Buckeye. You wait. It won't have a lick of white blood in its veins. Then you'll see what a liar she is.”

  “Oh, sweetheart, think about it. Isabel would never do anything to intentionally hurt you. She loves you too much. That's why she couldn't tell you. She didn't want to hurt you. Don't
act that way, like he'd be true to you. Junior doesn't love you, dear.”

  “You don't even know him! How can you say that?”

  “I know men, and how they can sweet talk young girls into doing things they shouldn't.”

  “Oh yeah, like you would know!” She jumped to her feet. “Junior loves me. He told me so. And you'll see! He'll come to his senses then follow us all the way to Texas to find me. You'll see! Everyone will see! Especially that lying Izzy! Pap should never have set her free.”

  “Gabby! That's a terrible thing to say.”

  The woman was right. She didn't really mean it, but if she was going to tell lies about Junior . . . Her heart suddenly threatened to boom out of her chest. Then just as quickly, shame wrapped her like a wet blanket. Tears welled. She turned and ran.

  From the barn's roof, Corbin had seen it all. He figured when Isabel left Liberty and Gabrielle alone in the middle of work, something was afoot. Watching until his daughter ducked behind a thicket of young cedar trees, he climbed down and cold trailed her.

  Liberty met him before he got halfway to where he'd last seen his girl. “I told her, Corbin. About Junior forcing Isabel. She doesn't believe it.”

  “Figured that's what was going on when I saw her run off.”

  “Want me to come with you?”

  “No, let me talk to her. I'll see if I can smooth things over.”

  She nodded then patted him on the back. He didn't really want to beard that lion, but she was his blood. He found her at the end of the lane he'd cut in the oak grove, sitting against a fat old tree he'd rejected because of its knots.

  With her knees up and her forehead resting on them, her hair hung down on both sides hiding her face. How many times over the years had he seen her in the same position, crying her eyes out? Poor baby.

  “I'm sorry. It's all my fault, baby girl. I should have protected you from that . . .”

  “So she told you, too? She's lying, Pap! And you believe her, too!” She raised her head. “I love him and thought he loved me. But now . . . how could he? Oh, please tell me it isn't so. That he didn't . . .”