“Stop it!” he commanded, grabbing her arm and squeezing it until it hurt before he let go. “Still just as full of fire as ever. Are you going to let me come in?”
A tear rolled down Dayme’s cheek, making a tiny river. “After all this time. You didn’t even bother to explain.”
The man was indignant. The hurt returned from the day he found out she was married. “I could ask why you didn’t answer my letter. Also, I distinctly remember a flippant retort that last night in Naches. You told me to ‘go find Molly’. So I did.”
The woman bristled. “So? Where is your precious Molly? Was she married when you found her?”
“I didn’t come all this way to discuss Molly.”
“What do you mean I didn’t reply? You didn’t write me a letter.”
Benjamin shrugged. “It’s not my fault if you didn’t get it. I certainly wrote it, telling you I couldn’t come until fall. It was months before graduation even though it violated our agreement. Months passed and you didn’t answer. I assumed…well, I put the past in the past. Life goes on.”
“I could have been dead for all you knew…or cared,” she spluttered.
“Aw, but you’re far from dead, my pretty. I think you’re kind of cute in nightclothes and curlers,” Benjamin teased, flashing a disarming smile. “Will you invite me all the way in or must we argue in the doorway all night?”
Dayme sensed it. Something wasn’t right. The way he was dressed, so dirty and tattered. She got the feeling that the man wasn’t sure if he wanted to come in or turn around and run the other way.
Benjamin sat down in one of the two easy chairs in the front room. He made a sweeping glance at the surroundings in the neat, lamp lighted log-walled room. The floors were scuffed and whitened from years of scrubbing with lye soap. There was a round braided rug. The settee and two low chairs were handmade wicker constructed of willow branches. They had never been painted and were cushioned with deerskin pads. He observed that whoever built the stairway was an amateur carpenter. It was railed with stripped oak or some other native wood. He couldn’t decide which. Another braided rug was on the floor of the adjoining dining room. Both were handmade, crafted from colorful rags and old black stockings that had been plaited together and stitched. There were a few good pieces of furniture, oak and mahogany…a library table, a buffet, china cabinet and a rocking chair. An ornate, gold-trimmed, two-tiered dish gracing the heavy oak table with ladder-back chairs was also visible in the shadowed dining room. It was filled with sugar cookies.
An unpainted wooden window box was filled to capacity with variegated green plants, spilling over onto the floor…mostly fern and Wandering Jew. A sweet potato vine in a fruit jar vase climbed a twine string tacked to the wall. A solid white cat slept in an apple box over in the corner.
Benjamin contrasted the humble ranch house to the luxury he’d always known. My servants’ quarters are better than this, he surmised. I’m glad she at least has a piano.
“Where is your luggage?”
“I didn’t bring any.”
“That’s strange. All the way from Mississippi?”
“Boston,” he corrected. “I left my luggage in Boston.”
For a moment, Benjamin thought it was sprinkling rain. He heard water dripping. Upon further scrutiny, he discovered the wet tow sack tacked over the outside of the open window. He marveled at Morgan’s ingenuity. The room was cool, a bit too cool for this time of the night.
Curiosity got the better of Dayme. She grinned. “Why the formal attire? First suit of tails I’ve seen since I left the riverboat.”
Benjamin also grinned at the amusement in her eyes. He knew how foolish he must look in cutaways on the Texas frontier. “These are my marryin’ duds, Ma’m,” he mimicked in a mock Texas brogue. “Come to court you ‘proper’.”
The woman laughed. It was good to see Benjamin again, to talk to him again. Still, she sensed something amiss. There is something about his attitude that she just couldn’t define, she didn’t believe his explanation for his clothes for a moment. There was more to this story than met the eye.
Erika’s bedroom door opened with a squeak. The Alsatian woman ambled sleepily into the room, fussing with a nightcap. She glanced from Dayme to the tall, disheveled stranger, wondering what was going on. Benjamin rose to his feet immediately.
“I heard the dogs and voices. I thought sure that….”
“A friend from Mississippi,” Dayme put in quickly. “Benjamin Farrington this is my companion, Erika Vaught.” She omitted that Erika was the housekeeper and nanny to the children.
Benjamin bowed and kissed the woman’s extended hand. “A pleasure, Miss Vaught.”
The woman blushed and smiled. “I am pleased to meet you. It is ‘Mrs.’. My man died at Shiloh. Will you be staying the night?”
“Yes, Madam. I have no other choice.”
“And you came all the ways from Mississippi.”
“No, Madam, from Boston. I have a plantation in Mississippi, but I reside in Virginia. I embarked on this journey from Boston.”
“Such a mighty long ways. Vell, you two have much to talk about, so I’ll shust go back to bed.” The woman started out of the room but stopped. “The linens are clean on Mr. Morgan’s bed,” she told Dayme.
Dayme wished Erika would go on to bed and shut up. She wasn’t ready to talk about Morgan. Her eyes darted to Benjamin, but he didn’t change expressions. Surely, he heard, she thought. He must know. “Mr. Farrington will sleep in the bunkhouse with the wranglers,” she hastily replied.
Again the housekeeper started to leave but turned with a friendly expression toward Benjamin. She was a talker and although a hired servant, Dayme had always treated her like family. “My people landed in Wirginia in 1833,” she told him. “From the old country. I vas shust a little girl..let’s see, I was five. No, I must have been six because my brother, Adolph, was ten. Ve lost our brother, Ludwig. He died ven he was two. Do you know any Zinemeyers in Wirginia?”
“Who, Madam?”
“Zinemeyer…my Papa vas Louis Zinemeyer. He had a brother, Pierre. My family and his family came over together from Alsace-Lorraine between France and Chermany.”
Benjamin nodded politely, although be was beginning to become annoyed. “Yes. I’ve been to Alsace-Lorraine.”
“You have!” Erika exclaimed. “In the spring? Have you seen Alsace in the springtime?”
“It was summer,” Benjamin replied, curtly. He chose to add nothing further to the conversation short of being rude.
“Alsace is such a lovely place in springtime. I vas shust a child but I remember all the beautiful flowers and….”
“I’m sorry we awakened you, dear,” Dayme interrupted. “Goodnight.” She waited until Erika’s door closed to tell him how she would never have made it out on the lonely ranch without Erika. “Her long-winded tales can be boring at times, but she’s a dear when you get to know her.”
She told Benjamin about the massacre, how her family had died at the hands of the Comanche Indians and how difficult it had been to return. The cattle herd had to be rebuilt from scratch. “We were happy, the house was filled with laughter and good humor. Uncle John loved house parties and barbecues, and we had them often. People came from all around. Then one sad day it all ended in the space of about an hour.” A sob caught in her throat, remembering that bloody day. “Uncle John fell right over there and Cousin Leon died over by that window. Dear Aunt Florence was murdered in the very chair you sit in. Poor Betsy shot herself in the upstairs bedroom. Her husband, Cousin John, Jr. fell beside her. I was down in the cellar. It was awful, Benjamin. I heard their dying screams.”
The man squirmed uncomfortably, wishing he were seated elsewhere. “Why on earth would you want to come here to live?”
Small talk was difficult for both of them. There was much on both their minds. “We’re talking like strangers, and we used to be so close,” Dayme said. “Did you sell Larkspur when you moved to Virginia?”
The woman laughed softly. “I love it, all except for renegades who pass through from time to time. Oh, the frontier is rough and untamed, but I love this land. The people are wonderful.” Her voice took on an accusing tinge. “As it turned out, I had no other choice but to plant my roots here.” Unconsciously, she fiddled with her wedding ring while they chatted, turning it around and around on her finger. “Could I get you some grape wine or peach brandy? The grape wine is quite good. Joe Floyd made it. You know…Josephus, your former slave. He and Lucy were here when I arrived. They’re homesteading out near Ft. McKavett.”
Benjamin stiffened. The mere mention of the big black man’s name infuriated him. “No,” he replied curtly. “I’m not interested in that runaway, his green wine nor his whereabouts. I’ll take brandy if you have nothing stronger.” He thought surely that Morgan would have bourbon or scotch around somewhere. “But first, I need to wash off some of this dirt. Where is the water closet?”
Her face flushed pink and she giggled. “We don’t have a water closet. Gad, Benjamin, you’re on the Texas frontier! People rough it out here.” She lifted her chin proudly. “I have more convenience than most ranch women. Running water with a pump in the kitchen sink, and through a unique invention, water runs through a pipe to a piece of an old bedstead that has been perforated and keeps the tow sack wet in that window. The wind blows through it and this room stays cool all summer.”
Benjamin was amused at her appreciation of the simple life style as she continued to sing the praises of the T-Cross Ranch.
•There’s a shower bath under the windmill tank for the wranglers that you can use tomorrow. I wouldn’t recommend it this late at night. It’s a good little distance down there, and the dogs don’t seem to like you. You could step on a rattlesnake. I have Aunt Florence’s porcelain bathtub in my room.” She chuckled softly. “Auntie told me that she climbed into that bathtub and refused to get out of it when Uncle John wanted to dump it at a steep hill to lighten the wagon load when they came out here. Poor Auntie drew water from the well with a bucket until they got the windmills.”
Benjamin grinned. Throughout the girl’s stay at Larkspur Plantation, he’d never been able to get the message across that the word should be pronounced “ahnt” instead of “ain’t”.
“There are, uh, chambers in the bedrooms, but you’ll have to use the outhouse. If the dogs charge you, just extend a stiffened palm and let them smell. Then, they won’t bite you.” She called out the door, “The wash pan is on the bench on the back porch. You can take a lantern. I’ll get Uncle John’s razor for you.”
Dayme began pulling rag curlers from her hair the moment Benjamin left the scene. Hurriedly, she ran to her dressing table and brushed her hair, letting it hang soft and loose. Morgan’s gentle face glimmered in her mind’s eye while she changed to a nicer pale yellow robe she hadn’t worn since arriving in Texas. “Stay out of this, Morgan,” she whispered. “I don’t know if you’ve left me or if you’ll ever come back. I love you, dear heart, but give me this fleeting moment before I tell him about our marriage or Daniel Lee. Before the magic fades and the dream is gone. Now…this enchanting evening…is mine.”
Benjamin was appalled at the inconvenience. He marveled how she could bear the primitive existence of an Indian infested wilderness in an isolated, rundown log house with the barest of necessities. He wondered about the boy, too, and why Dayme hadn’t mentioned the child. He wondered about paternity. He wondered why it fell his lot to become entangled with the most determined, courageous, independent, unconventional little witch in the nation. Thoughts of Molly were lost somewhere along the way.
Upon entering the room, the familiar fragrance of magnolia blossoms caused a quickening sensation to race through his veins when he beheld her beauty. He absorbed the sight of this lovely, childlike creature that invaded his life unsolicited, disturbed his heart and then sailed away to this God-forsaken place. Her long, thick auburn hair fell in soft ringlets to the middle of her back, bringing memories of another time, another place when Dayme became a woman in his arms. He had an urge to hold her yearning deep inside him. He watched her backside as she stooped to get the liquor from the bottom shelf of the buffet. Her curvaceous rump whispered almost forgotten ecstasy.
Dayme stretched high in the china closet in an effort to reach the good crystal glasses. She couldn’t. Why, she thought, is everything somehow just beyond my reach? She turned to Benjamin with a helpless expression. “I’m too short.”
Coming out of his trance, Benjamin handed two glasses to her. Their hands touched in the exchange, and their eyes met, locking there for an instant. He wanted so much to kiss her. Why, he mused, does this brash little girl from the wrong side of society, who laughs at propriety, arouse me so? Would you ever fit into the New England culture as a Congressman’s wife? I doubt it. One thing is for certain. You’d never try to blend in with the woodwork. Not you, my pretty. No, impetuous one, you’d make your presence known. All would be as fully aware of your presence, as I am. Would you pester the life out of me petitioning for Women’s Suffrage? He took another sip of brandy as he studied the girl. Unconsciously, he nodded his head while he pondered. I rather imagine that you would. All the time I tried to teach you what is proper never changed you an iota. Darling, you could charm a rattlesnake into wagging its tail playfully just to entertain you. That point could be an advantage. You’d never be boring, that’s for certain. At this particular moment, I don’t care if I ever got to Washington. Right now, I’d be content to spend the rest of my life with you…in bed. A jumble of thoughts and questions continued to crowd Benjamin’s brain, making him unaware that he was tapping the base of the long stemmed glass on the table beside him.
It was beginning to grate on Dayme's nerves. “Want a refill?”
“Please.” How can I approach the subject of the boy, he wondered? Should I mention the child? I don’t think so. She’d insist it was for that reason alone that I came. This little tinderbox would explode in my face if she knew Morgan forced me at gunpoint. Her first reaction would be humiliation, then fiery anger. She’d chase me off into the night with that rifle over there. I can’t tell her about Morgan. He swore to kill me if I do.
“Are you hungry? There’s leftover venison. Some cookies?”
“No.”
“I’ve thought about the plantation and all my Negro friends there.” Dayme forced her voice to be light. “Tell me all about them…Logan, Cassie, all of them.”
He told her about refurbishing the old mansion, the new stables and the fine registered stock. Somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to tell Dayme about the Morgan horses, only the thoroughbred racehorses. He told about the school and the teacher who replaced her. He chuckled softly. “Cassie is still half mad at me for giving her job to Mandy. Logan has rheumatism that he calls the ‘miseries’, and his hearing is bad. Otherwise the old fellow is in fairly good health. Cassie is healthy as a horse. I retired them both with pensions shortly after Mose died.”
“I didn’t know,” Dayme murmured. “When?”
“Three or four months after you left. About a week after Josephus high-tailed it. Death came as a blessing. The old fellow was in pain. I still miss his music. He was a good servant, born on Larkspur. Angel married a buck by the name of Porter Wales. Remember? She is Agnes’s daughter. They have another child, a boy.”
“Angel and….?”
“No, Ike and Agnes. Makes them eleven and two grandchildren…Rosie’s picks.”
Dayme laughed softly. “Benjamin, it is so good to talk to you again. It’s like those moonlit evenings on the veranda at Larkspur. Tell me about yourself. What have you been up to.”
The man took another sip of brandy and puffed on the pipe before he answered. “After graduation…well, actually it was before, I joined forces with a Harvard colleague by the name of Andrew Moorhead. We established a law firm in Alexandria. Our firm h
as mushroomed in the last few years. Andrew is an Englishman, too. A Bostonian Yankee.”
“Did he fight for the North in the Civil War?”
“Yes. He was a soldier of the Republic. We were friends before the war. Naturally, that continued when we both returned to Harvard.” He told her about a recent foxhunt the two had enjoyed, omitting the fact that Molly also rode in the chase. “Enough about me. It’s your turn. Still think women are going to conquer the world?” His disarming smile reflected amusement.
Dayme met his gaze evenly. She was not amused. “I haven’t changed, if that’s what you mean. I’m president of the Women’s Suffrage movement in Menard County and a dues-paid member of the state association. We’ll get voting rights, Benjamin. Just like they did in Wyoming year before last. After my folks were killed, I learned to ride, rope, brand, doctor screw worms, you name it.”
“Screw worms? That sounds so…so nasty.”
“They are. And they’re deadly to animals, too.” Pride rose in Dayme’s voice. “I can milk cows, slop hogs, help with whatever needs to be done. Oh, I don’t pretend to have a man’s strength. There are some things I just can’t do. I leave the castrating to the wranglers, too.”
There she goes again, Benjamin grimaced at her frankness.
“I’ll make a success of this ranch. One day, I’ll have a home out here every bit as nice as Larkspur. The herd is growing now that the army is driving the Comanches to reservations. Of course, there are still a few renegades.” She laughed. “Remind me to tell you about my personal encounter with Chief Quanah Parker, the meanest war chief of the lot, so they say.”
“Something amusing.”
“Heck no. I was scared to death.”
Her melodious voice and ‘old South’ accent had always fascinated Benjamin. He listened attentively while she rambled on, entranced by her enthusiasm about this dreadful place. “Oh, Benjamin, you would love this country. The frontier is a great place to begin again. People get rich out here. Land is cheap.”
Child of the River Page 34