Litty extended his hand to tickle Rose beneath the chin. “Aw, darlin’, don’t be doing that,” he said, smiling gently at the sniffling child. “It’ll give your mama gray hairs, and she’s too young and pretty to be having those.”
“Now, Ben,” Madeline scolded, although she couldn’t hide her pleasure. How nice to be complimented by a man, especially one as handsome as the wagon master. She certainly wasn’t hearing anything of a similar nature from her husband.
Who, she noticed, had stuck his head from beneath the buckboard and was glaring at her. She reacted by smiling sweetly up at Ben, whose temples sported streaks of white, and said in a voice that carried, “I think gray hair on a man is quite attractive.”
“Why, thank you, ma’am,” he answered. Then he lowered his voice and grinned as he added, “I’ve decided I’m lucky you’re in love with your husband, Madeline Sinclair. You can be a right ornery woman.”
Madeline felt a touch of chagrin. Perhaps she shouldn’t attempt to stir up jealousy in Brazos. But hadn’t he done the same thing just last night when he’d fussed so over Juanita? Self-defense, that’s all her devilishness was. She’d learned early in her life never to give up the fight, and living in close concert with Brazos Sinclair had become nothing less than all-out war. Today’s battle had only begun. “Ben,” she asked, smiling sweetly, “I dread the thought of riding in the wagon today. Do I have time for a bit of a ride before the train heads out? I’m in the mood to go for a gallop.”
Litty chuckled. “Like I said, you’re as ornery as a mule colt. Get your horse, Madeline. I’ll take you.” Then he said in a voice only she could hear, “But I’ll expect that introduction to the Reverchons’ eldest daughter you promised me at dinner tonight.”
“It’s a deal, Mr. Litty.” Then Madeline, Ben, and Lillibet all looked toward the wagon as Brazos yelped a curse and rubbed at a bump on his head.
Madeline and Ben rode for only twenty minutes before he indicated they should return to the train. Being less than a week from La Réunion land, the colonists anticipated the end of their long journey and tended to ready themselves for the day’s trip quicker than they had before.
The riders were discussing the merits of different methods of child discipline when they cantered into the bustling camp. Madeline’s gaze snagged at the sight of Juanita, waving her hand and calling directions as Brazos toted one of her trunks from his wagon into Madeline’s. The Mexican woman looked up at Madeline and frowned. “Tell him, girl, that we women need many changes of clothing. He listens to you, si? Explain I must have everything with me.”
“Brazos, what are you doing—” Madeline began, halting abruptly when she saw him open one of her trunks and riffle through its contents.
He was about to find her stash. The one that included his watch, his gun, three of his toys, and a few other insignificant items to which he could lay claim. She made quick excuses to Ben and galloped over to her wagon. “What is going on?” she demanded.
“My Lord, woman. You’ve got more junk. What are you plannin’ to do, open a mercantile at La Réunion?” He withdrew a pair of white silk pantalets. Holding them up in front of him, he whistled and said, “Maybe I ought to go through these chests of yours a bit more carefully.”
Madeline vaulted from the saddle and grabbed the underwear from his hands. Stuffing it into a corner she demanded, “Brazos, why are you going through my things?”
He peered into the trunk with considerably more interest than he’d previously shown. “I’m looking for some things for you and Rose to wear. After switching Nita’s things from the buckboard to your wagon, I don’t have the gumption to haul another trunk. You and me and Rose are gonna be leaving the train. Get the things you’ll need for a few days—only the necessities, mind you—and put them in the back of my wagon.”
“What? Why?”
“You’re my wife. I don’t need a reason.”
Madeline simply glared at him.
Brazos looked toward the wagon master and drawled, “Maybe I’m looking to get you out of here before you present me with a pair of cuckold’s horns.”
Her mouth gaped open, and she blinked hard. “Before I—” She put her hands on her hips, stiffened her spine, and questioned, “You dare say that to me? You, who can’t keep your eyes off wanton Juanita?” From the corner of her eye, she noticed the Mexican woman’s smug smile.
Brazos’s expression hardened. “Watch your mouth, Madeline. You’re fixing to flap that tongue of yours into a heap of trouble.”
Fuming, she sucked on her lower lip and folded her arms. When Brazos turned to the trunkful of stolen items, she moved quickly and sat on the lid. “Rose and I are not going anywhere with you. Thank you, though, for asking.”
“I’m not asking,” Brazos replied flatly. And he meant it. He was determined that Madeline—and the baby—make the trip to St. Michael’s with him. He wanted her with him just as much as he’d wanted to leave her behind only the day before.
Good Lord, he’d gone plumb crazy.
Still, he wasn’t leaving Madeline here with pretty-boy Litty. He’d made that decision the moment he’d watched her smile vapidly up into the wagon master’s eyes. “Fool,” he muttered.
“I am not a fool!” She glared at him mutinously, looking so beautiful, it made him ache.
“I wasn’t referring to you, wife,” he said, sighing. “Look, Rose will get a kick out of being where we’re going. And I’ve an idea that you might just like it, too.”
“And where is it you think to take us?”
“I’m taking you to meet my children.”
Her mouth gaped, and she blinked her eyes. “Your what?”
“My children.” Observing her face bleed white, he added maliciously, “All twenty-three of them.”
Chapter 13
ST. MICHAEL’S CHILDEREN’S HOME had officially been named for St. Michael the archangel, the one who will battle the antichrist and cast the beast into the abyss of darkness for all eternity. Brazos had thought the name appropriate when he chose it in honor of another Michael, one who had lived and died carrying the standard of Christ, but who never would be canonized.
The devil responsible for his death would pay for his sins, however. Brazos had sworn it.
Madeline hardly spoke to him during the trip, and he was too busy worrying about the upcoming reunion to battle with her. After hours of travel along a bumpy, rutted trail, the wagon pulled to a stop in front of a three-story clapboard house. A wide, gingerbread porch stretched around the house on three sides, and at its center, a sign squeaked as it rocked in the westerly breeze. Madeline read aloud, “St. Michael’s Children’s Home.” She gave Brazos a curious glance, “What a charming house.”
“Yeah,” Brazos replied, a surge of satisfaction sweeping through him as he studied the home from chimney to pier. The place was looking good, real good. He took a quick count of the rosebushes lining the walkway to the front steps. “Twenty-four. There’s twenty-four. We’ve added another one.”
“Twenty-four. Children. An orphanage.” Madeline slapped her forehead with a palm. “They aren’t your children, they’re orphans!”
Brazos glared at her. “Listen, I may not have fathered these kids, but I care for them as though they were my own. My money supports them, my family helps run St. Michael’s, all of them have permission to take the Sinclair name as their own. Any insult you give them, you give me. So I don’t want to hear any snide remarks out of you, woman, about these children who’ve been unlucky enough to have lost their parents.”
Madeline stammered, “I’d never…I didn’t. Oh, Brazos, I thought …”
“You thought what?”
For a long moment, Madeline held his gaze, then she reached over and squeezed his hand. “Brazos Sinclair you’d make a wonderful father.”
“Well, hell,” he gruffly cursed. Hopping down from the wagon, he extended his arms for Rose. “Come here, Miss Magic. You’re gonna have a merry time here at St. Michael
’s.” He assisted Madeline to the ground, then led the way up the path to the house.
He didn’t bother to knock. A fierce anticipation gripped him as the sound of children’s laughter floated from one of the back rooms. “They must be having a late lunch or an early supper,” he told Madeline as he shifted Rose into her arms. He took off his hat and hung it on the top rung of a tall hat tree already holding caps and bonnets of all shapes and sizes. Wiping his suddenly damp hands on his denims, he finger-combed his hair and asked, “Do I look all right?”
She stared at him in amazement. “Why, yes, Brazos, you look very nice.”
He nodded, then took a deep breath and tried to quell the nervousness that had sprung to life in his belly.
“What are you doing just standing there, Madeline? Come on.”
Shaking her head, Madeline walked at his side toward the dining room. Of course, he was dragging her along. “You’re about to pinch off my elbow, Mr. Sinclair,” she hissed.
He dropped her arm. The children’s voices grew louder. He heard his sister Melissa’s firm but gentle voice chide them to quiet down. Melissa, or Cecilia as she now was known, always had been good with the kids. He’d been grateful when she’d decided to dedicate her life to helping the young residents of St. Michael’s, thankful that the name change allowed her to do so without alerting Salezan of her connection to the Sinclair family. Even though Lana and Mason Kennard ran the daily operations of the home, the children needed a teacher. No one was better at teaching than Melissa.
Then he was there, in the doorway, gazing at those whose very existence had saved his sanity. The orphans, Miguel’s orphans—healthy, happy, in their home.
Melissa sat at the head of the table with her back to Brazos. She was saying, “Billy, if you don’t eat your peas, you’ll not be given a slice of vinegar pie for dessert.”
“Are you still arguing about eating your peas, Billy Justice?”
For just a moment, it grew so quiet that he could have heard Billy’s peas plop against the floor. Then the room exploded with noise. Chair legs scraped, children squealed, and Melissa screamed. Brazos went down beneath a flurry of hugs, kisses, and shouts of joyous welcome.
Never before in her entire life had Madeline felt so alone.
HE HAD introduced as Madeline Christophe to his sister. His sister Melissa. His sister Melissa, the Catholic nun, who had changed her name to Sister Cecilia Mary Catherine when she took her vows.
Madeline could accept the idea of carrying golf clubs in a coffin better than she could the fact that Brazos Sinclair had a sister who was a nun.
Brazos had made no mention of the marriage or, for that matter, of why Madeline was visiting St. Michael’s with him. At the time, Sister Cecilia had been so wrapped up in welcoming her brother home that she’d not bothered to pursue the topic.
That ended quite abruptly when she joined Madeline on the front porch, carrying a pitcher of lemonade, two glasses, and a burning curiosity in her eyes.
Madeline sat in a white wicker chair, rocking Rose to sleep for her afternoon nap. She eyed the look on the nun’s face and stifled a groan. The interrogation was about to begin.
At thirty-seven, Sister Cecilia was an attractive woman with eyes the same brilliant blue as her brother’s. She lived at the children’s home, serving God by teaching the orphaned children, and in no way fit Madeline’s perception of a nun.
Except for the determined stare intent on gaining information. Madeline, however was no slouch herself in a battle of polite conversation. Within ten minutes, Madeline had learned how a young girl growing up in a family of staunch Methodists managed to hear the calling to become a Catholic nun. Despite Sister Cecilia’s best efforts, Madeline gave away nothing more than insignificant information about herself.
Talk turned to Brazos, who, having declared a holiday from school, played in the yard with the children. Madeline watched him scurry up a rope to inspect a treehouse, settle onto a swing with a little girl named Sarah who squealed with delight as he swung them high, and run two footraces, winning against the boys and losing against the girls. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a grown man play the way Brazos does,” she commented.
Sister Cecilia sipped her lemonade and sighed. “You think he’s difficult now, you should have seen him as a boy. He wore the rest of us ragged—always begging us to play some silly game, more often than not, one he made up on the spot.” She sniffed disdainfully and grumbled, “And his rules were never fair. They always gave the advantage to the boys. Unless I was on his team, I never won anything playing with Brazos.”
Madeline smiled wryly. She had yet to win against Brazos Sinclair herself. His rumbling laughter captured her attention as he sat on one end of a seesaw, sending the five children straddling the other side high into the air. “He does seem to thrive on challenges,” she commented, thinking of how he was determined to solve the mystery of Rose’s birth.
“He loves challenges of all kinds,” Brazos’s sister confirmed. “And he forces them on other people. You should have seen what he’d planned for his wedding. He’d arranged horse races for the men, and he’d purchased puzzle boards for the women. For his wedding reception! Lana was quite put out, I tell you.”
Madeline almost dropped her lemonade. “Wedding?”
“I don’t suppose you know about Lana,” Sister Cecilia reflected, a frown marring the serenity of her expression. “Oh, dear. Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned it. Of course, I have no way of knowing for sure, since I don’t know what is between you and my brother.”
“That makes two of us,” Madeline said beneath her breath. A wife. He’d been married before. And he’d never told her. Anger flared red-hot inside her as she thought, Why, who does he think he is, going on about my lies? He’s been doing the same thing the entire time.
Sister Cecilia encouraged her with a smile. “Please tell me, Madeline. Are you and Brazos more than friends?”
“I think it best if Brazos explained our situation,” Madeline replied stiffly, trying to picture the mysterious Lana. She imagined sea green eyes, red hair, and a bosom to put Madame Trixie’s to shame.
“Well, if you think it best,” Sister Cecilia said. “But if my brother has done wrong by you, it’s best the family knows. We’ll make sure he accepts his responsibilities.” The nun leaned forward and whispered, “Is he little Rose’s father?”
“No.” Madeline replied, unwilling to stir that particular pot of trouble. “Pardon me if I speak out of turn here, but for a religious woman, you appear awfully prone to gossip.”
Sister Cecilia nodded sadly. “I do so fight it, but it is such a struggle. And where family is concerned, my tendency to indulge in idle chatter is especially difficult to resist. I love them all so very much, you see. I will allow some justification of my actions in that it is impossible for me to pray that they be delivered from their trials if I know not what those trials entail.”
“You are good,” Madeline said, admiring Sister Cecilia’s strategy. She liked this woman.
Brazos’s sister smiled and sipped her drink. “In the interest of effective prayers, would you tell me what is between you and my younger brother? Then I’ll know whether I should share with you the details of Brazos’s relationship with Lana.” Offhandedly, she added, “Lana will be here within the hour most likely.”
“Here? At St. Michael’s?” Madeline asked. Sister Cecilia’s devilish grin looked exactly like Brazos’s. Madeline bit her lip. It was tempting. He really should have told her about his first wife. Sister Cecilia’s eyes glowed like sapphires as she waited for Madeline’s reply. “Why is this Lana woman coming here?”
“She lives here.”
Madeline made her decision. “You go first.”
The nun nodded, then heaved a wistful sigh. “It was going to be the social event of the season—despite the fact that Brazos was involved. I had returned home from St. Ignatius Convent, and—well, you’re probably not interested in my travels, I daresay.�
��
Madeline repeated dryly, “I daresay.”
“Anyway, the wedding was to—” Sister Cecilia broke off and frowned as realization dawned in her eyes. “Oh, dear. I should probably begin in another spot. Brazos didn’t tell you about Lana, so you must be worried. You want to know about her.”
She patted Madeline’s knee. “Not to worry, Madeline. I wouldn’t tell Lana this, but I never did believe Brazos truly loved her. I thought then and I do today that he was in love with the idea of love. More than anything else, he wanted to have his own home and family. He purchased a plantation—”
“This is your brother Brazos we are talking about?” Madeline asked incredulously.
Sister Cecilia nodded her head. “Out of all my brothers and sisters—there are fourteen of us, by the by, in case he hasn’t told you that, either—Brazos was the one who always played with the babies. He told my twin brother, Stephen, who told me, that one thing that had helped him settle on Lana was her wide hips. He wanted someone big enough to birth his babies, what with him being so large and all.”
“Large.” Madeline repeated, a flush stealing up her neck.
“He’s well over six feet you know, biggest of all my brothers.”
“Oh, large.”
Sister Cecilia eyed her cautiously. Madeline plunged ahead. “So, Brazos bought a plantation?”
“Yes. In fact, the land is not far from here. It’s pretty, a mixture of meadow and wooded area. It backs up right alongside the Brazos River.”
“The Brazos River. He’s mentioned that to me.”
Sister Cecilia smiled. “He gives Mama such a hard time about his name. Papa did her no favor when he allowed it to become known that the baby had been conceived on a sandbar in the middle of the Brazos. Anyway, my brother was all set to marry Lana and build this fine plantation house when Father Miguel asked him to make a trip south to search for the silver.”
“Silver?”
“From El Regalo de Dios. It’s a silver mine once worked by Franciscan friars.” Sister Cecilia reared back. “Don’t tell me he hasn’t told you about the silver either!”
Capture The Night Page 20