Sunrise Over Texas

by MJ Fredrick

  The gathering in town was a festive affair, with people laughing and visiting as they milled in front of Austin’s log cabin. Kit strained up on her toes to get a glimpse of the man himself. He was younger than she expected, considering his responsibility, but dark circles shadowed his eyes and his brown curls were tousled from travel, and maybe frustration from seeing all these people waiting for him.

  Sympathy tugged at her. She had enough trouble being responsible for her family. What weight must he carry? She eased closer to Trace. Perhaps it was best they wait a bit before talking to Mr. Austin, as long as the man remained in the colony for a while.

  Mary bounded over to Kit. “He’s brought wagons of supplies. I’ve heard there’s fabric. Perhaps we can all make new dresses.”

  The girl deserved a new dress after what she’d endured. Besides, the dresses they owned were shamefully worn. “We’ll get to the mercantile first thing in the morning and see what they have.”

  “Can we?” Mary gave a little bounce of excitement, squeezed Kit’s hand, then disappeared into the crowd.

  “I can probably get you a meeting with him this week, but no sooner,” Almanzo said from beside Trace. “Those men there have politics to discuss and that’s his focus.”

  Kit tightened her fingers on Trace’s arm, but she fought to hide her disappointment. She was ready to know what her future would hold. She felt as if she was holding her breath in anticipation of what came next.

  “Do you want to go home?” Trace asked.

  Her heart lurched. That was exactly what she wanted, to go home. Her home. Her own home. Even the fort had felt more like a home than this. She nodded and turned away, pulling her hand free, intending to head back alone.

  She only got a few steps before he caught her arm. “Where are you going?”

  “Back to Almanzo’s.”

  “Not by yourself. Not with all these strangers in town.”

  There was no one but strangers in this town, although she didn’t say so.

  “I’ll be fine. I’ll see you in the morning.” She broke away and hurried down the road, longing to be alone.

  ***

  Mary wasn’t the only one who intended to get to the mercantile early for the choicest of the supplies Mr. Austin had brought back. Several settlers gathered in front of the small store after breakfast. In fact, some looked as though they had spent the night on the steps. The store had seemed well supplied before, so Kit wondered how badly off the settlers were, or if they were like Mary and just craved something new.

  To be honest, she was more than a little excited to see for herself. She hadn’t bought anything new since leaving Louisiana, though it looked like none of them would get anything, with this crowd. Mr. Padalecki, the store owner, looked a bit wary as he opened the mercantile doors, but despite the buzz of excitement among the crowd, the people entered calmly. Kit had to hold Mary back, but only until an older gentleman gestured the three women in ahead of him.

  The three aisles of the mercantile were crowded. Most of the men gathered near the new farming supplies and seeds while the women congregated by the bolts of fabric. Mrs. Padalecki held up her hands for peace as women passed the bolts from hand to hand.

  “Only two lengths of fabric per customer!” Mrs. Padalecki called over the twittering of the customers. “Only two lengths!”

  “Two lengths per customer!” Mary turned to Kit, eyes wide. “Does that mean we have to all get the same fabric?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Kit saw Trace come through the door and rose up on her toes to watch his progress. “Get what you like.”

  “But then we’ll all have the same dress.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Kit held onto her patience with the smallest of threads. Trace had moved down the food aisle, touching his hat in her direction before moving out again. “Everyone else will be in the same situation. We can use different patterns and different notions. Don’t fret. Be happy Mr. Austin brought something back.”

  Mary was ecstatic the rest of the day and made arrangements to turn the living area into a sewing room. Each woman had gotten a length of calico and muslin, as well as buttons and thread. Mary intended to get straight to work sewing.

  “Perhaps you should discuss this with Mr. Tarleton before taking over his house,” Kit advised gently. “He’s already been more than generous giving up his bed. Why don’t we make the bedroom our sewing room?”

  Mary wrinkled her nose. “The light is terrible in there. I don’t know why he didn’t put more windows in.”

  Because windows were expensive. But Kit didn’t say it. “It’s warm enough during the day that we can sit outside to sew.”

  “And ruin our beautiful fabric before we even wear it? Mr. Tarleton will understand.”

  “Understand what?” Trace asked, walking in from the barn.

  “That we have commandeered his house,” Kit replied. She and Trace hadn’t spoken since the walk home last night.

  Trace looked from her to Mary and back. “He’ll understand.”

  Kit stared, trying to make sure she understood his meaning. He nodded and inclined his head toward Mary as Mr. Tarleton himself walked in. Kit saw his gaze go to Mary, saw the small smile play on his lips, and lifted her eyebrows at Trace, who grinned. Heavens, it was lovely to see him smile. She smiled back.

  “I have good news,” Almanzo said over dinner. “I was able to get you a meeting with Mr. Austin tomorrow.”

  “Yes?” Kit’s gaze met Trace’s before she looked down the table at Almanzo.

  “Are you ready?” Almanzo teased.

  Trace’s expression sobered as he turned back to Kit, head cocked in question.

  “Of course,” she said quickly. Maybe too quickly.

  “Too bad you won’t have one of your new dresses ready,” Mary said, shoulders drooping in disappointment.

  Agnes heaved a sigh. “Mary, get the muslin.”

  “Mother, no.” Kit stepped aside as Mary ducked past her into the bedroom where they’d stored their new treasures. She couldn’t allow Agnes and Mary to put themselves under the pressure of creating a new garment in that short a time.

  “Yes.” Agnes’s tone was firm as she helped Graciela clear the table. “You will not be ashamed in front of this man. I’m sure we can pay Mr. Tarleton for the lamp oil we’ll use. Let’s get to work.”

  ***

  Kit was bleary eyed in the morning in any event. She’d been unable to sleep as her mind wheeled from one worry to another. What would Mr. Austin tell her? Did she have a future here or did she need to return home? Would Trace stay or go?

  Why was she fretting over something she couldn’t answer until she met with Mr. Austin?

  She swung her legs out of bed and caught her breath. Her dress hung on the back of the door, a beautiful pale green, with a V-neck, the fabric edging it pleated in three narrow rows, the pleats framing the buttons down the front of the bodice. The sleeves were straight, and the cuffs at the wrist had the same pleats. The detail was something that took extra time, but it made the dress so beautiful, especially since there had been no lace on hand, or pretty buttons. Instead, plain bone buttons ran down to the waist, and a full skirt belled beneath it.

  “I wanted to do the pleats at the bottom, too,” Mary said from her bed. “But we didn’t have time. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s the most beautiful dress I’ve ever owned.” She turned to her sister-in-law. “I don’t know how to thank you, Mary. Help me get dressed.”

  ***

  Stephen Austin wasn’t what Kit expected. His cabin, the room where he saw people, was only a bit bigger than Almanzo’s living space. The walls lined with books—law books, Kit supposed. Her stomach fluttered a bit. She wished Trace would take her hand. Of course that would not be proper behavior. Still, without his reassuring touch, she felt adrift here.

  Mr. Austin smiled and leaned forward as Almanzo escorted them into the room. A smile quivered on her lips as Almanzo stepped forward to make the in
troductions.

  “Mr. Austin, this is Mr. George Watson the Third and Mrs. Katherine Barclay.”

  For a moment, Kit didn’t know what Almanzo was talking about. Who was George? She hadn’t even known Trace’s first name! As the third in line with the same given name, he would have needed a nickname. She hadn’t thought to ask his given name. She took a step back and he glanced over, a frown furrowing his brow.

  “Mrs. Barclay?”

  Mr. Austin rose from his desk, brows lowered, drawing her attention from Trace. Had he asked her something?

  “Sir?”

  “You’re Mrs. Barclay.”

  “Yes, sir. My husband was killed near the Louisiana border.”

  “The name sounds familiar to me,” the man muttered. He crossed the room to a large book on a table by the wall.

  Kit turned to follow his progression, and she watched as he opened the book and ran a finger down the page. “My husband had a grant with you. We never were able to claim it. I’ve only arrived in town a week ago and I wanted to ask about it.”

  Mr. Austin lifted his gaze from the book, brow furrowed in confusion. “You must be mistaken. Your husband has claimed it. John Barclay has lived on the land since August.”

  Chapter Twelve

  The strength left Kit’s legs. As she staggered, Trace caught her by her shoulders and guided her to a chair. He kept his hands on her, reassuring her, but she couldn’t take comfort in the gesture. Her mind whirled with Mr. Austin’s revelation. John? Alive? Could he be?

  “There must be some mistake,” she said. “Someone else claiming to be John. He never would have left us alone all that time. And we’ve been here. Why haven’t we seen him?”

  “The claim is further west, about two hours away,” Mr. Austin explained. “He doesn’t get to town much.”

  “He wouldn’t have left us on our own for so long,” Kit insisted. He wouldn’t have abandoned her, his mother, sister and his son to fend for themselves in hostile territory. “There’s a mistake.” Nausea roiled, and she fought the urge to drop to her knees and empty her stomach on Stephen Austin’s shoes.

  “Can you tell us where the claim is?” Trace asked. “I’m certain this man must be an imposter.”

  Kit, preoccupied by her own thoughts, barely registered his question. “Can you tell me what he looks like? John is blond and stocky and strong.” Panic rolled through her at the possibility that he was still alive, at what that meant for her and her family, for her and Trace.

  Mr. Austin shook his head regretfully. “I don’t remember. There are so many, and I don’t see him, since he lives so far out.”

  “If he’s an imposter, then what?” Almanzo asked Mr. Austin, but Kit didn’t care what happened to the man claiming to be John. She just had to know if it was John.

  She clutched Trace’s hand and craned her neck to look up at him. “I must see if it’s him.”

  “I know.”

  “We need to go now.” She shifted her attention to Almanzo. “May we borrow your buggy?”

  ***

  Kit hadn’t wanted to stop by the cabin on the way to the land grant, preferring not to explain to Agnes and Mary where she and Trace were going in such a hurry. But she didn’t want to ride over the dusty trails in her fine new dress and Trace needed to hitch up the horses in any case.

  She hurried past the women as they shelled beans, desperate for the privacy of the bedroom. She changed quickly into an old calico and bolted out the door to face the three curious women. “We’re going to look at the land grant,” she said with as much forced cheeriness as she could muster. “We’ll be back late. Don’t wait for us.”

  Graciela rose. “I’ll make you something to eat to take along.”

  Kit almost protested, not trusting herself to hide her emotions in front of Agnes and Kit, but the one biscuit she’d had that morning wouldn’t hold her. She nodded, even though Trace had pulled up in front of the house with the buggy.

  “I don’t see what the hurry is,” Agnes said, her attention on the beans she was shelling.

  “Another family may be interested and we need to make a claim.”

  “I thought we would go back home,” Agnes said. “I thought that was what you wanted.”

  Graciela handed her the basket and Kit eased toward the door. “I’m not sure what I want.” She hurried out to join Trace at the buggy, avoiding further questions.

  He helped her up silently. He’d been quiet since they left Mr. Austin’s cabin, letting her reason everything out, she knew. Only there were no easy answers, no matter how much she thought about it. She was in love with Trace. But she loved John, and if he was alive…

  She didn’t want to look at Trace as he drove the wagon. Right now her temptation was to tell him to turn the wagon around and head for Louisiana, not to go see if John was alive. Just pretend she didn’t know.

  But she couldn’t live with the possibility. She had to find out.

  Her choice was going to affect Trace, too, but she couldn’t think about that now. The question running through her mind was, why hadn’t John come for her?

  Why had he let her son die?

  She almost wished Trace wasn’t with her so she wouldn’t have the added tension of his presence, a subtle pressure. If this person they were heading out to see was John, how would she introduce him to Trace?

  “Hello, John. It’s been a while. This is the man I met and fell in love with and made love to before I found out you were still alive.” Nausea rolled in her stomach. She’d committed adultery, the worst kind of betrayal. No matter what, she should have remained faithful to her husband’s memory longer.

  “My head hurts.”

  Her sudden words made him jolt in surprise. The reins fell over the horses’ rumps, making them shy and veer. She slapped a hand to her hat as she swayed.

  He drew on the reins to slow the team. “Do you want to wait, to have more time to figure this out?”

  “And then discover it’s an imposter after all? No. I need to know.”

  He sighed, but a small grin played at the corners of his lips. “I knew you’d say that.”

  Oh, she loved this man. Some of the tension eased from her shoulders and she adjusted to face him. “Know me that well, do you?”

  He shifted the reins to one hand, covering hers with his free one. “I know you’re spinning this around in your head until you’re making yourself sick. It’s not good for you.”

  “Trace, what am I going to tell him?”

  “I’m wondering what he’s going to tell you. Why was he here and not back at the fort?”

  “It could be someone else.”

  “Do you want it to be?”

  “Wouldn’t it make things simpler?”

  “But you don’t really hope that. You want it to be him.”

  Did she? Suddenly the tips of her shoes were more fascinating than meeting Trace’s probing gaze. “He was my husband. I don’t wish him dead to make my life simpler.”

  “He’s still your husband.”

  “What would you do if you found out Angelina was still alive?”

  He drew in a hard breath and released her hand, as if he couldn’t bear to touch her and talk of Angelina. “I watched her die, Katherine. I held her as she slipped away from me.”

  His voice was so cold, not the voice of the man she loved. But how could he be anything but hurt? She shouldn’t have asked him to accompany her. Almanzo could have just as easily, and the journey would have been less painful for him. But selfishly, she’d wanted Trace with her, wanted the strength and support he’d given her the past few months.

  She wanted to reach for him now but wondered if he’d allow it. She was riding to her husband’s home while craving contact with another man.

  “I’m sorry.”

  He swept a hand down his face. “No. No, I am. I just don’t know…what are we supposed to do here, Kit?”

  She shook her head, digging her fingers into her scalp. “I don’t know. I…can
’t think, not until I know for sure.”

  “How can you not think about it?”

  “Because if he’s alive, I betrayed him. I betrayed him with you, again and again.”

  A muscle in Trace’s jaw jumped. “If anything, he betrayed you.”

  “I can’t think about that either. Or that if he’d come back, Daniel might not have died.”

  “Kit.”

  “How can I not think about that? Could you?” She dropped her hands into her lap. “My head’s just spinning around and around. But there’s nothing I can do. Not now. Not until I know.”

  ***

  The trip was longer than Mr. Austin had told them. Trace’s shoulders ached with tension, more from what they’d find on the end of this journey than guiding the horses. If John Barclay was still alive, Kit would go back to him. It wouldn’t matter that she loved Trace. She loved her husband more. Trace could feel her turmoil across the seat.

  He glanced at the sketchy map Mr. Austin had drawn and guided the horses to the right, barely able to find the overgrown trail. If John lived here, he didn’t leave often.

  As they moved forward, Kit drew tighter into herself and moved further from him. Then the homestead came in sight, a half-built cabin beside a large tent.

  A black man walked out of the cabin. Kit blew out a relieved laugh. “Not John. Thank God. Not John.”

  The man wiped his hands on a bandana and approached the wagon as Trace reined in. “Can I help you?”

  “We’re wondering if we’re at the right place.” Trace reached down to set the brake. “Mr. Austin sent us here to find John Barclay.”

  “But perhaps he was mistaken,” Kit said quickly.

  “Not mistaken,” the man said in a slow Louisiana drawl. “Mr. Barclay’s here.” He motioned with the bandana toward the cabin.

  Kit made a choked sound. Trace turned to see her gaze riveted on the cabin.

  “He’s here?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”