“Yes, well.” Floyd whipped his hand in the air to summon Mercy to the table. “Another one of those fine pastries, Miz Green.” In spite of the compliment, his voice held an unpleasant authoritarian note. “And more coffee.”
Mercy hurried to serve him. Edmund supposed she had to be nice to customers, no matter how bad-mannered they were. To soften his companion’s rudeness, he gave the woman a smile and held up his cup.
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“You’re welcome, Mr. McKay.” Mercy poured the steaming drink. “Say, did you and Lu—”
“Lucy’s just fine.” Edmund cut in right quick, hoping to keep her from revealing he’d been here yesterday with Lula May. No doubt Mercy had noticed Lula May’s tears, but she’d had the good manners not to intrude.
“Lucy?” Mercy’s brown eyes widened. Then, true to her name, she caught on to his dilemma and dropped the question. “Glad to hear she’s fine. ’Scuse me. I gotta check the roast beef.” She hurried away toward the kitchen.
Edmund breathed out a quiet sigh, relieved to see Floyd was too busy eating to notice the awkward exchange. He’d seemed a bit on edge since Edmund arrived at Lula May’s. Edmund decided not to ask why. Let the man lead. Edmund was just along to be the driver and to get him away from the ranch so Lula May could search Floyd’s belongings.
At the railroad station, Amos Crenshaw greeted both men in his usual friendly manner. “Say, Mr. Jones, I looked for you at church on Sunday. Sorry you weren’t able to make it.”
“Still recovering from my travels.” Floyd was sweating mighty bad right now, and no wonder on a hot day like this.
“Yes, of course. A man can’t be too careful about his health. I’ll be sure to pray for you.”
Edmund chatted briefly with Crenshaw about the upcoming roundup, when the railroad would transport cattle from the area up the line for sale in Fort Worth. When Edmund had first started out with his ranch, he’d had to drive the herd north, taking several weeks to get them to market and losing some along the way. Now the railroad got them to market in a few days with rare losses. What a blessing! While they talked, Floyd paced back and forth and stared down the tracks like he was a hungry man waiting on supper.
Right on time, the massive steam engine puffed into sight and slowed to a stop. A few passengers got off the Pullman car while Amos’s son, James, traded the outgoing canvas mailbag with the incoming one. The boy then helped a porter unload luggage for the newcomers.
Edmund hadn’t known what to expect as far as Floyd’s lawyer was concerned, but none of the businessmen or cowboys getting off the train gave evidence of knowing Floyd. When the last person stepped down and the porter started to help departing folks into the Pullman, Floyd rushed over and peered up through the back door of the car.
“Is that all?” He demanded of the black porter. “Check inside before you start loading up these—” He waved impatiently at the six or so folks about to get on the train as though they were bothersome gnats.
“Yessuh.” The porter touched the brim of his hat in a respectful gesture Floyd didn’t deserve. He climbed into the car and disappeared, coming back real quick. “That’s all for today, suh.”
Floyd swung around and marched over to Crenshaw, who was giving directions to a young woman carrying a baby.
“Yes, ma’am. You can hire a buggy—”
“See here, Crenshaw.” Floyd came just short of knocking the woman down.
Edmund had been relaxing against the yellow clapboard siding of the train station, but this was too much. He hurried to make sure the lady was all right.
“Ma’am, I can drive you to the livery stable. Mr. Crenshaw will vouch for me.”
At Crenshaw’s nod, she gave Edmund a grateful smile. “Thank you. I’m making a surprise visit to see my parents, or they would be here to meet me. Do you know the Ogdens?”
“Yes, ma’am. It’s not too far out of my way to take you there.” In truth, the Ogdens lived north of Little Horn, while Lula May’s place lay to the south of town. If he took this little lady and her baby to her parents, that would give Lula May an extra hour and a half to search for something helpful in Floyd’s belongings. Edmund hoped she would think to check under the mattress and on top of the wardrobe.
All this time, Floyd had been protesting just about everything. His lawyer’s failure to appear, as though that were the fault of Amos Crenshaw or one of the arriving passengers. Edmund’s offer to the young lady, despite Floyd’s own former protestations that he himself was the only gentleman within miles.
Deacon Crenshaw eyed Floyd with alarm for about three seconds before his own countenance changed from accommodating public servant to protective master of his domain, the train station. “Floyd, back off.” Not Mr. Jones. Floyd.
Edmund had heard Sheriff Fuller use that same tone with unruly cowboys from time to time. Now the question was, should he protect Floyd or leave him to Crenshaw? If Floyd got too riled, he might take it out on Lula May and the young’uns later.
“Well, Crenshaw,” Floyd shouted, “the least you can do is check the mail to see if my lawyer sent a letter explaining his delay.” He emphasized the word “lawyer,” probably to strike fear into the stationmaster’s soul.
“I’ll get to that in good time, Mr. Jones.” The stationmaster wasn’t intimidated in the least. “You go on home, and if you receive a letter, I’ll send it out to Lula May’s place with my son.”
Floyd eyed young Crenshaw with a skeptical, almost accusing eye. Which brought a harder look to the stationmaster’s face.
“James frequently delivers special mail, and we’ve never had a complaint.”
Floyd huffed out some more of his anger and then ordered Crenshaw to send a telegram for him. They entered the station to arrange it. In the meantime, Edmund helped the young mother find her luggage and loaded it into the wagon and then handed her up onto the driver’s bench along with her baby.
The little fella grinned up at Edmund, bringing on a warm emotion he’d never felt before. What would it be like to have his own child? He’d never even dreamed of receiving such a blessing, but now the possibility stirred a strange longing deep inside him.
Floyd, on the other hand, wasn’t the least bit happy that he had to ride in the back of the wagon all the long, bumpy way to the Ogdens’ ranch.
* * *
Lula May carefully unwrapped the towels and brown paper from around several mahogany-framed portraits. She’d checked through everything in the trunk, finding at the bottom these old pictures. There was Grandma looking decidedly kinder that Uncle claimed she had been. Lula May could see her mother in the older woman’s face, especially around the eyes. There was one of Grandpa, whose eyes twinkled and whose puckered lips bore witness of his toothlessness. The last picture showed young Floyd, handsome in his Confederate uniform, with the same prideful curl to his lips that he wore today. But no picture of Mama. Lula May’s eyes burned with unshed tears. Poor, sweet Mama. Disowned by her family because she loved a Yankee. If only they’d given Papa a chance, they would have seen what a good man he was.
Glancing at her pin watch attached to her shirtwaist, she felt a moment of panic. Three thirty. How much time did she have left? If the train was on time, as it always was unless weather held it up, she had no more than a half hour, if that much, to replace everything in the trunk and dresser. Carefully rewrapping Floyd’s picture, she set it inside the trunk. When her knuckles thumped against its floor, she heard a soft, hollow sound. False bottom! She dug along the edge with her fingernails but couldn’t lift it. After a quick trip to her own room to fetch her nail file, she had the perfect tool to lift the covered cardboard. Underneath lay a black leather-bound portfolio and another wrapped picture, this one about sixteen by twenty inches. Curiosity drove her to look at the picture first.
“Mama.” Her voice broke on a
sob at the picture of her beloved mother so young and pretty and full of life, the sparkle in her eyes reflecting that of both of her parents. This must be her debutante picture, for she wore a white, scoop-necked gown of lace...and the pearl-and-diamond necklace she’d given Lula May. At the edge of the mahogany frame was etched in gold “April 24, 1861,” proof without doubt that Grandma had given her the necklace. Lula May’s parents married in 1865, only two months after the war ended. Lula May had been born ten months later.
Her hands shook violently as she opened the unlocked latch on the portfolio. Indeed, Grandma’s will lay inside, along with Grandpa’s. Lula May could hardly hold the documents still enough to read the elegant handwritten script. Grandpa had died before Mama married, so he’d left several valuables to her, including a sufficient dowry for the union they all expected her to make with an appropriate Southern gentleman. He left a substantial allotment to Grandma. The plantation, horse farm and all furnishings had gone to Floyd, of course.
Memories blended with the written page, stories her parents had told her. After the war, everything changed. Floyd came home to find his wife, child and father dead, and all the properties in near ruin. Shortly afterward, Mama had met and married Papa, a dignified Union officer who had come to Alabama to help the defeated Southerners to heal and rebuild. No one among their friends and family saw it that way, of course, so Papa and Mama had moved north.
Which brought Lula May to Grandma’s will. With the land, houses and furnishings going to Floyd, she had bequeathed various personal items to friends and servants and a gold locket containing tiny photographs of her and Grandpa to Floyd. Nowhere in the document was the necklace mentioned. Neither was Mama. Not that Lula May was surprised, but she did shed a few more tears over that.
Time had run out. She started to repack the picture and portfolio. Then another thought overcame her and she acted without hesitation. After putting everything else back in the trunk, she placed the portfolio in her desk drawer. And over the mantelpiece in the parlor, where Frank and Emily’s wedding portrait had once held the place of honor, she hung the mahogany-framed picture of Mama.
* * *
Edmund followed Floyd into the house. To his surprise, they found Lula May sitting in the parlor, unusual for her in the middle of the day. While Floyd blustered to her about his ill treatment at the train station and why didn’t she have refreshments ready for him after his traumatic trip to town in that useless wagon, she smiled and calmly gazed across the room at the mantelpiece. Edmund looked that way, and his heart kicked up. A new picture hung there, one of a pretty young woman who could have been Lula May a few years ago. Clear as fresh-cleaned glass in the sunshine, a fancy necklace hung around her neck. Edmund looked back at Lula May and held her beaming gaze. They’d won. Floyd couldn’t harm her anymore.
“What are you looking at?” The old man whipped around, and his mouth fell open. “Where did you get that? How dare you go through my belongings?”
He took a step toward the fireplace, but Edmund blocked him.
“I hear tell you’ve done a bit of snooping around here yourself, Floyd.” Though Edmund kept his voice even, holding on to his temper was proving to be a challenge.
“Why, nothing of the sort.” Floyd looked up at him, his eyes wide. “I was merely looking for what is mine in this ramshackle excuse for a house.”
There hadn’t been many times when Edmund used his size to stir up fear, but right now it felt like the appropriate thing to do. From the appreciative smile on Lula May’s face, he figured he was right. “Tell me, Floyd, just exactly what is yours in Lula May’s home?”
Floyd blustered a bit more but didn’t say anything coherent.
Lula May stood up and walked to the fireplace. “I do have to thank you for keeping Mama’s picture all these years. I’d like to think Grandma still had a place in her heart for her only daughter.” Her voice wobbled on that last bit, and Edmund’s heart ached for her. How well he knew the pain of rejection himself.
“Nothing of the sort.” Floyd still acted like he was in charge. “A picture can be valid as a legal document under the right circumstance. That’s why we didn’t throw it out with the garbage.”
Lula May started. “My, oh, my, Uncle, do you realize what you just said?”
“Whatever are you talking about, girlie?”
“Look here.” She pointed at a date imprinted on the mahogany frame. “This is Mama’s debutante picture, and she’s wearing the necklace you claimed is yours. Not only that, but Grandma’s will doesn’t even mention disinheriting Mama or giving the necklace to you or anyone else, despite all the details it does include. That’s because the necklace belonged to Mama. And she gave it to me.”
Floyd blustered some more and shook like an earthquake, rage blazing across his round face. “I will take my supper in my room.” He turned toward the hallway door.
Edmund gripped his arm. “Floyd, Lula May and I are going to the cattlemen’s association meeting tonight. While we’re gone, you get your bags packed, and tomorrow we’ll take you to the train station.” Had he overstepped? A quick look at Lula May’s smiling face reassured him. “And you’d better not touch anything in this house that isn’t yours. Not that picture, not anything. Don’t even go in her office. You understand me?”
Unable to shake Edmund off, Floyd stared down at the hand gripping him. His posture slumped, and he raised a watery-eyed gaze at Lula May. “So this is how you treat family? Letting this Cretan manhandle me this way?”
There was that word again. Floyd really needed to hone his insults a bit more.
“I took you in when you were a pathetic, unwanted orphan, and now in my time of need, you throw me out. What is this world coming to?”
“What do you mean, time of need?” Lula May blinked those big blue eyes, and Edmund prayed she wouldn’t fall for whatever Floyd was about to say.
After a brief but descriptive curse regarding Yankees and the way the war turned out, Floyd launched into a sad tale of how he’d never been able to overcome his losses. “Now those carpetbaggers have taken the last of my land and possessions.” He shook a finger at Lula May. “It is your Christian duty to take care of me just as I took care of you.”
“Hmm. I see.” To Edmund’s relief, Lula May clearly wasn’t taken in by his pathetic speech-making. “All right, then. I’ll give you a portion of what I have left over from the sale of Mama’s necklace. You can buy a train ticket to wherever you want to go.”
Smirking, Floyd pulled himself out of Edmund’s grasp and straightened his wilted suit. “Very well. I shall be packed and ready to depart in the morning.” He stomped from the parlor, throwing one last shot over his shoulder. “I shall expect supper in my room.”
“Supper will be on the stove.” Lula May stepped over to Edmund and grasped his hands. “Thank you.” She chewed her lower lip, and just as he had yesterday in Mercy’s café, Edmund had the urge to kiss it. One day soon he just might do that. “I’m not so sure I should leave him here with the children.”
Edmund placed a hand over both of hers, enjoying the way they felt small in his grasp, and yet entirely capable. “We can take the young’uns and let Calvin and Samuel manage Floyd. They did a fine job last week.”
She sighed a bit but nodded. “Yes, they did. All right, then. I’ll go.”
Had she noticed how he’d spoken of “we” as naturally as he felt it? The prickly little lady he’d known just over two weeks now seemed to have disappeared. In her place was an agreeable woman as comfortable with him as he was with her. Somehow he had to find a way to make that we official.
After supper, they loaded up the wagon and drove toward town. The closer they got, the more Edmund’s thoughts turned toward other matters. With Lula May’s uncle dealt with, he felt free to concentrate on the cattle rustlers. How could he and the other ranchers find out who had t
old the outlaws where the posse would be so they could hit a different ranch?
When they arrived at the meeting, the wind had kicked up and was shaking the canvas sides of the church tent. For the first time, Edmund decided Lula May was right about the community needing a church building sooner rather than later. Maybe she would bring it up tonight.
As Edmund joined Hank Snowden, she took her place at the lectern and asked Pastor Stillwater to offer a prayer. Then everyone took their seats on the wooden benches. Before she could bring up the first order of business, Gabe Dooley charged into the tent full of rage.
“Thirty-three head!” The man was disheveled and dusty like he’d just ridden in from the range. “They took thirty-three of my prime steers I had ready to go to market. I nearly caught one of ’em. He knocked me off my mount and gave me this lump on my head.” He yanked off his Stetson and touched a raised spot near his forehead.
The men broke out in an uproar, shouting their outrage over this latest theft and injury. One of the thieves had wounded CJ Thorn, but he’d recovered. Edmund understood the indignation of the other men. He’d been furious over his own losses.
“Gentlemen!” Lula May’s high, feminine voice managed to break through the noise. “We won’t solve anything by being hysterical.”
This brought the room to order in the blink of an eye.
“I don’t need some woman to tell me not to be hysterical,” Magnuson grumbled nearby. “Women are the ones who get hysterical.”
“And yet Lula May’s the calmest person in this room.” Edmund could hear the proprietary tone in his voice, and he didn’t care who else heard it.
Hank Snowden nudged him and grinned. Edmund chuckled. Having been a cowboy himself, he felt a kinship with Lucas’s foreman, a good, sensible man.
“Where’s Lucas tonight?” Edmund spoke softly while Lula May questioned Gabe for details about the theft.
Snowden shrugged. “Said he got a letter from his father and needed to deal with it.” He shook his head. “From what I can figure, the old man was pretty hard on him. Growing up in Alabama after the war—”
A Family for the Rancher Page 19