Texas Redemption
Page 28
“He’s been injured, maybe shot. I couldn’t leave him.”
“You should’ve. We don’t owe that vicious beast anything. Likely he’ll pounce on our throats in our sleep.”
“Don’t you see? Vallens may not have met his Maker. You’re clear. Perhaps you only shot the dog instead.”
“Well, Miss Smarty, where’s the angel of death then?”
Wolf-dog crawled onto a burlap bag she spread in the corner, but curled a lip at Ollie.
“Shh, you’re frightening him. And if I knew where Vallens went, I’d tell you.”
“I don’t feel so good.” Ollie’s hands covered her stomach.
Laurel bustled to the pump with a bucket and filled it.
“Why don’t you fetch Jake while I wash the wound? I’m sure he’ll find this interesting.”
“Ain’t exactly the word I’d use.” Ollie cackled and slapped a knee. “Jake’s gonna piss all over hisself. Cain’t wait to see it.”
While the woman hurried to spread good cheer and tidings, Laurel cleaned off the blood. She spied a piece of lead embedded in muscle. While Wolf-dog devoured two large chunks of leftover meat, she ran upstairs for the tweezers. She was back down and hunched over the animal when Ollie returned. The bulging eyes of Jake Whitaker peeked around the door.
“Good God. I ain’t wearing this badge. Vallens’ll be spittin’ nails at someone shooting his dog.”
“Jake, you have experience in removing bullets.”
The man crumpled to the floor, half in and half out.
Ollie lifted a limp arm. “He fainted.”
“Should’ve known he’d do this.”
“Reckon I should drag him on in or push him back out?”
“Whichever is easiest. I need you here.”
Huffing and puffing, Ollie pulled him in far enough to close the door. Together they removed the metal fragment and applied a bandage. Through it all, Wolf-dog remained amazingly calm. Laurel stroked the dozing animal’s slender neck.
“No telling where he’s been. I wonder why he came to me of all people? It’s odd how pure hatred can sometimes turn peaceable.”
Ollie squatted on her heels. “Boggles the mind. How did things go with the young girl over at the Dry Gulch?”
“I hope we can afford another hand.”
“Praise be, you hired her.”
“It doesn’t take much to make you happy.”
“While you were upstairs, guess who I ran into at the bar?”
Tired eyes and pea soup for brains soured Laurel’s mood.
“Who?”
“Yates. Trying to climb headfirst into a whiskey bottle.”
Nothing except regret would make a man drown his sorrows. Or did Brodie wrestle with the idea of running out on her again?
The idea kicked her in the teeth and poured Ollie’s tincture of hawthorn down her raw throat. Laurel closed her eyes to hide the vivid remembrance of their lovemaking. Walking a tightrope made one old and weary.
“Course, I tried to show him the error of his ways, but he’d slipped too far over the edge to pay me any nevermind.”
Laurel’s eyes flew open with a jerk of her head. “Please tell me you didn’t meddle.”
Whatever Brodie assumed, she didn’t welcome Ollie’s brand of help. Generally speaking, the dear woman botched everything. Ollie’s wide-eyed innocence didn’t fool her for a minute.
“Who, me? You know I’d never breathe a word to anyone.”
Twenty-seven
Jake had vanished by breakfast. The wolf-dog rose from his burlap pallet to sniff Laurel’s hand. She could imagine how fast the honorable sheriff ran when he came to and saw the animal. And the door wasn’t even in splinters. Amazing.
“Bet you’re wanting to eat, aren’t you, boy?”
She rubbed his ears and upturned throat. Even the worst of God’s creatures responded to kindness. With a master like Vallens no wonder he’d tried to eat everyone alive.
“You’re not so mean.”
Ollie caught her hand-feeding meat and stale gingerbread to the dog. “Stop that! Next thing I know, you’ll have an apron on him and waiting tables. On second thought, the idea—”
A knock on the back door interrupted Ollie.
“Unless I’m mistaken, that’s Adeline.” Laurel let the girl in, pleased she’d accepted the offer.
Ollie rushed forward. “Git yourself on in here, little lady, and make yourself at home before Laurel has you doing tricks and begging. I’m Olivia Applejack b’Dam, by the way. But you can call me Ollie.”
Adeline’s blues sparkled with tears. Laurel marveled at Ollie’s ability to make the loneliest orphan loved and wanted.
“It seems as if I’ve come home, thanks to you both.”
Laurel took the ragged valise from the girl. “I hope you won’t mind sharing my bed?”
“Anywhere beats the saloon. With the drunken sots raising a ruckus, I never got a wink of sleep.”
Laurel laughed. “A few nights of Ollie’s snoring may change that opinion.”
Ollie swelled up like a toad. “I swear to my time, insult a woman in her own house, why don’t you? You should make a body welcome, not run ’em off.”
“What a beautiful animal.” Adeline knelt to put her arms around the wolf’s neck, showing no fear. “What’s his name?”
“Reckon he don’t have none other than Wolf-dog, leastways not that we ever heard.” Ollie lit the pipe that had gone cold. “Don’t belong to us, only keeping him…uh, for someone. He’s sure taken a shine to you, young lady.”
Inspiration hit Laurel. “He needs a proper name. Something more than Wolf-dog. Every living thing deserves self-respect. Adeline, any ideas?”
“I’m sorta partial to my mother’s maiden name of Hannibal.”
“Perfect. I like it. Then Hannibal it is.”
Laurel led the way to the living quarters and watched the new help unpack meager belongings. The rag doll propped up by pillows added a fitting touch to the faded old quilt.
“Why is that covered?” Adeline pointed to the mirror.
She’d forgotten how strange another might take her phobia.
“I’m afraid I can’t bear to see my own reflection.” Or the color purple, though she didn’t add that. The girl thought her an escapee from the madhouse already. “I can’t seem to fix the problem. Not yet, at any rate.”
“After Paw stole what belonged to me, all I see is something dirty and rotten. He turned a twelve-year-old into thirty. Seeing your mirror puts us both in the same boat.”
“Shh, don’t think about it. When Ollie spouts her golden rule enough, you’ll soon learn that no one can roll back months or years and it don’t do an ounce of good trying.” She drew Adeline close and smoothed back the blond silk. “From here we keep our eyes on the future and focus on making ourselves better than we were before. Ollie says hopeless are those who refuse to step out of a quagmire once someone hands them a strong branch.”
Unbidden pictures of the James family gathered on the porch popped into mind. She could take her own advice.
And she would.
One of these fine days, at the appropriate time.
“I’ll wager you’re a flapjack-eater.”
“Oh shoot, I can eat a whole plate full.”
* * *
Brodie knew the roulette wheel of fate had stopped on unlucky black thirteen by the thunder of hooves halting in front of the Yates residence early Thursday morn, interrupting breakfast. Blood roaring in his ears almost drowned out the fists pounding on the polished cypress. Through the curtained window, robins in the garden appeared unaffected by the commotion. The nearby back door urged him to flee. A sane man would.
That is if said man hadn’t grown tired of the chase.
If he hadn’t let roots burrow
so deep in Texas swampland, he could chop them loose with the sharpest hoe.
…and if he hadn’t found Lil after all this time.
He forced down the bite of ham and calmly reached for another biscuit, spooning jam onto one half.
Murphy jumped to his feet when soldiers in blue barged into the dining room, followed by Etta who wrung her hands. They yanked Brodie from the chair, toppling it over.
“What the…?” Murphy glared, his voice thick with anger.
“Shenandoah, by the authority of the president of these United States and the governor of the rebellious Texas territory, I hereby place you under arrest.” Two bars on the man’s shoulders ranked the speaker as captain.
“I fear you’ve made a grievous error. This is my brother, Brodie Yates. I intend to register a complaint immediately,” Murphy said. “Please leave my home.”
“It doesn’t make any difference what name he chooses to call himself. Apprehending the treasonous Confederate spy will earn me quite a promotion,” the captain blustered.
“May I remind you gentlemen the war ended over three years ago and Andrew Johnson issued amnesty for Johnny Rebs.” Brodie spoke in a quiet tone, willing himself to avoid his brother’s gaze. Brodie had known the danger that dogged his return.
The captain leaned forward. “We haven’t forgotten the scores of men who died at Shenandoah’s hand. No amnesty erases that.”
Had the men not bound him, Brodie would smash the nose jutting a finger’s width from his. Even so, he strained to free himself if for only a moment. The damn war would never be over as long as hate and revenge ran rampant. Men wouldn’t let it.
“We can take you back in pieces if you prefer, you misbegotten scum of a whoreson.” The captain shoved him toward the men filling the doorway.
“Yeah, General Buell didn’t say it had to be pretty.” The second voice spoke near his left ear—a lowly private no doubt who found bravery only after they had Brodie securely shackled.
Brodie turned. “Murphy, will you take care of Laurel?”
“No need to ask. You know me. We’ll get this straightened out and soon have you back.”
The group hustled Brodie toward the front, the captain pausing only to deliver a parting insult. “As far as me and the rest of the Union army are concerned, his neck promises to be all that gets straightened. A rope will see to that very quickly.”
“My brother deserves a fair trial before execution.”
“Before or after, it’s all the same. Sit down, sir, or we’ll take you, too.”
“Murph, please. You’ll make matters worse.”
Glare of the morning rays usually required a hat. In the last twenty years Brodie could count on his fingers the days he’d stepped out bareheaded. Captain Blue Belly scoffed at his simple request, heaving him onto a horse.
People stared at the procession. Jake ran from the barber shop and Brodie caught the missing tin star on the weasel’s chest.
His glance swung to the café. Laurel ceased cleaning the brand-new window when the rag slipped unheeded from her hand.
Her shocked lavender gaze shattered his heart.
He’d never hold her again, never feel her heart beating next to his.
And he’d never speak the words of love he’d carried silently inside for so long.
His luck had run out.
The reality that he loved her, without reservation and forevermore, came too late.
Moss-draped cypress standing proud and tall on guard shed tears he dare not allow. The giant trees spoke of dreams and plans turned to splinters. They told a truth few men wished to hear—that redemption came free of charge for those seeking it.
Ahh, but he’d been a body complete with a head for a little while, anyway. That consolation would have to do.
Brodie tried to drag his gaze from Laurel’s, but he didn’t have the power. That’s when a lean animal leaped around Laurel’s skirts.
Wolf-dog.
Did that mean Vallens hadn’t died? A sick whirl whipped his breakfast into froth. Jake’s shirt minus the badge made sense all of a sudden. Yet nothing explained why Laurel patted the beast’s head without him ripping off her hand.
“How-do, ma’am.” The captain halted the line of men and tipped his head. “Fine day, isn’t it?”
“They shore grow ’em pretty here in Texas, eh, Cap’n?” a soldier hollered.
No doubt a bold leer accompanied the yell, accounting for Laurel’s flush. Brodie strained to break the bonds, for he’d take joy in putting a fist in the coarse-mouthed Yank.
Before the captain issued the command to continue, Brodie watched her embarrassment fade. Helpless fear swept aside all other emotion. The beautiful features couldn’t hide raw terror. A lump in Brodie’s windpipe prevented the trickle of spit from passing through.
If he had one favor to ask, he’d use it to assure Laurel he’d gladly follow her to hell and beyond in order to keep her free of men the likes of Vallens and Taft…even it meant a walk right up the steps to the gallows.
Regret? You could say he had plenty to keep him company.
But never in protecting the love of his life.
The square-jawed captain displayed no mood to grant favors, not even small ones to ease a tormented soul. Brodie had trusted too little and so quickly thrown away what he’d battled great odds to find.
He glanced back when the column moved.
Sweet Jezzie.
Laurel stumbled, tears creating rivers down pale cheeks until she fell to her knees in the middle of the street.
“I’ll love you always, my darlin’.” His whispered breath couldn’t rise past the hole in his chest. “For all eternity.”
The ride gave him time to mask the misery that surely his face reflected, for he’d not give his enemy more reason to taunt. Arriving, Brodie noted the similarity of the Jefferson stockade to the shameless conditions at Andersonville and Camp Douglas. It was nothing more than a dungeon beneath the stars. Sole saving grace, if a man called it that, was they had no roof to trap the stench inside. Urine and decay that killed many with disease and dysentery could escape to some degree.
Sand Town. An accurate name for the place where men died in numbers, their bones returning to dust from whence they came.
His gut sank with reality when the immense fifteen-foot-high timbers of the prison’s gate slammed behind.
Men in rags shuffled around the compound, their glazed eyes staring, welcoming him to a deplorable existence. Blankets spread on the ground indicated the sleeping quarters. The second thing to catch his eye was a gallows at the far end.
“There’s no place like home, eh, Shenandoah?” The captain yanked him from the horse by the chains binding his wrists. “Don’t get too accustomed though, you won’t be here long.”
“About what I’d expect from yellow-hearted Billy Yanks.”
“Tsk, tsk. Mr. Shenandoah needs a few lessons in manners. Don’t he, boys?”
Fists pummeled muscle and flesh, reminding Brodie of the value of keeping his opinions to himself. Pain in the midsection and kidneys doubled him over. His shackles placed him at their mercy, not that they possessed any for a Southern Reb. He slumped to the ground and prayed they’d tire.
Laurel’s face flashed across his memory. The night they made love her sooty gaze had held anger.
He’d disappointed her once again. How many times did that make? Must surely set a record. And how many chances did a man get to right wrongs? No more, it seemed.
Useless to think about at this stage, for he’d not leave this stockade except in a pine box. That much remained clear.
Yep, he bore much regret.
Then a well-placed boot to the skull delivered Brodie into the black pit he’d dreaded.
Now he would never know when the last breath came.
* * *
“I think we’ve fed every mouth, belly, and hollow spot in the vicinity.” Adeline finally sank into the nearest chair.
“Young lady, it’s hard but honest work. You’ll get the hang of it though. Gotta get your feet wet before you learn to dog-paddle.” Ollie patted Laurel. “Girl, go talk to Murphy and get his two cents on springing Brodie from that blue belly hell. You ain’t gonna do much good here anyhow. Go put your heads together while I teach Adeline the finer points of dishwashing.”
Within minutes, Laurel lifted the brass knocker at the house on State Street. Etta opened the door before she could let go of the shiny noisemaker.
“Lawsy, I’m glad you came. Mr. Murphy’s in a tizzy since the soldiers invaded the privacy of his home. Them men snatched Mr. Brodie straight out of his breakfast chair before we knowed the reason why. Plumb disgraceful treatment of God-fearing folk.”
Hannibal posted himself outside the entryway. His devotion to her touched Laurel deeply. She’d spent a good part of the day wondering who the animal would choose should Vallens reappear, for deep in her gut she knew the man would sooner or later. If he wasn’t dead.
Laurel barely glimpsed her former betrothed’s colorless face before she threw herself into his arms.
“What are we going to do, Murphy? It’s all my fault.”
“Come into the parlor. We’ll figure out something.”
“They’re going to kill him. Probably without benefit of a trial, no less. They may already have.”
“Not with the stink Mr. Loughery keeps raising with his editorials in Marshall’s Texas Republican newspaper. He keeps an eagle eye on that bunch, particularly since most of the injustices occur against Jefferson’s most influential.” Murphy smoothed her hand to reassure, but worry lining his features said his reasoning didn’t necessarily hold water. “Did you know Mr. Loughery even wrote the president of the United States, detailing a list of basic rights they’ve denied prisoners?”
“Letters. They’re a waste of time and postage.”