Child of the River

by Wanda T. Snodgrass

  He was quietly amused, well aware that she was unaware of his vast wealth.

  Making a sweeping gesture with her hands, Dayme told him, “I have miles and miles of land in all directions. And the river…there is something magnetic about the San Saba River that is enchanting. It keeps drawing me back.”

  The man grinned, teasing her. “You call that little brook a river? Come now, a Mississippi girl? I was told San Saba River water is not fit to drink. That’s why I brought this canteen filled with well water.”

  “That’s a lie!” she defended. “A bald faced rotten lie! The San Saba’s water is pure and delicious. Who told you that?”

  “A man. Said to drink only well water during my stay.”

  “That’s silly. What man?”

  Benjamin shrugged. “Thanks but no thanks. I’ll stick to well water.”

  He shifted in the chair and at that moment Dayme realized he was staring at her wedding band. Instinctively, she covered the ring with the other hand. It was time to discuss her relationship with Morgan. Her voice was low and halting. “We have to talk seriously,” she said hesitantly, not knowing how to begin. “Perhaps…perhaps you already know. Did somebody in Vicksburg tell you?” Not waiting for an answer, she blurted, “I…I married Morgan Edwards, our friend. He’s so good to me, Benjamin. You say you’ve come courting. It’s too late. I married Morgan. You apparently didn't want me.”

  Brushing her words aside, Benjamin arose and walked over to the fireplace, staring into the cold ashes. “If you’d stayed at Larkspur like I wanted you to,” he finally said bitterly, “instead of coming to this wretched place….”

  The next time he spoke his voice was brusque. “Yes, I know about Morgan. I also know you have a son. I believe he is called Daniel Lee.” His brain churned with jealous emotion. “I was told the child is mine. Am I the father? How can I know for certain when you…. If only we had wed then. I came to see the boy, and you, of course. If this child is my son, your marriage to Morgan won’t be a problem. I am an attorney, you know. If the boy is mine, he has a right….”

  Dayme was hurt by his abrupt legal tone. He didn’t even let me explain the conditions of my marriage to Morgan, she thought. Perhaps he didn’t come to court me after all but just to try to take my son away. She wasn’t ready to face the possibility. She shuddered inwardly and dismissed the unpleasant thought and changed the subject. “By-the-way, where was Molly?”

  “Well, I found her quite by accident at a party in Boston. I went there with Andrew Moorhead, my colleague. My blind date turned out to be the missing Molly Allison.”

  “Well? What happened? Did you marry Molly?” It was her intention to distract him from Daniel Lee.

  “No.” He laughed. “But you wouldn’t believe how close I came to marrying her. Actually, I left her all dressed up in her wedding dress at the church.”

  Dayme giggled, relaxing momentarily. “You didn’t! I can just see Molly…a church full of people, and the groom didn’t show.”

  A look of annoyance crossed Benjamin's face as he met her eyes evenly. “Oh, I showed up, Dayme. I showed up. Look, I don’t want to discuss Molly. Please stop interrupting. We must discuss this child.” He set the empty glass down hard on the mantel. He strode up and down in front of the fireplace as if he were questioning a witness.

  Dayme was taken aback by this strange matter-of-fact businesslike legal manner. Her heart pounded. He was like a stranger again.

  “I’ve been told on good authority that the child is mine. Is he, Dayme? Answer yes or no. Does Daniel Lee belong to me or to somebody else?”

  She remembered all the anguish of the child’s birth with the mental image of gentle Morgan’s efforts to sooth away her pain and the years of mental torment both she and Morgan had gone through. Dayme’s green eyes suddenly flashed with anger. “How the hell should I know?” She flung the hateful words at him. “The only thing I know for certain is that Daniel Lee belongs to me!” She figured that was what he wanted to hear anyway.

  Benjamin’s voice was tinged with jealousy and sarcasm. “Oh, you know all right, Dayme. You know. You know how many men made love to you other than me. You’re the only person in this room who does know.”

  “Didn’t you know? Everybody else between here and Mississippi knows. I’m a scarlet woman! Haven’t you heard? I’m a whore! Most anybody in Vicksburg can tell you that I sleep with every man I come in contact with. I never met a man who didn’t bed me!” She flung the hateful words at him.

  Holding his head in his hands, the man wilted into a chair. “All I want is to hear it from you. If I am the father, then the boy is my son…my heir, my flesh and my blood. He’s entitled to bear the name of Farrington.” He crashed his fist down on the table beside him. “Damn it, Dayme, I have a right to know! I need to hear it from your lips. That’s all I ask.”

  “Who? Who told you that? I’ve never told anyone, not even Morgan.”

  “Never mind. If the child is mine, I want him. I will not leave him in this backwoods place. I’m prepared to take you and my son back with me.” Benjamin’s voice calmed but the veins in his neck were still prominent, exposing inward anger. “I have suffered, too.”

  Rarely did Dayme have more than one brandy, but suddenly she found herself in need of another. The liquor decanter shook in her trembling hand while she poured. “I have another son or haven’t you heard,” she said coldly. “Alexander. I love them both equally.”

  “My dear,” Benjamin said huskily. “Right now, I’m only concerned with the paternity of Daniel Lee. Just tell me he’s mine. I’ll believe you. You see, I want to believe you. Good grief, woman. Why didn’t you…? I would have given my son a name. I have that much honor.”

  “You sure as hell do!” She retorted bitterly. “Nobody can accuse the upstanding Benjamin Atwood Farrington of being short on honor!” She glared at him. “Don’t you ever react to anything except your damned honor? Where are your feelings?”

  “I took away your innocence, and I’ve been whipping myself every since,” he lamented in an anguished tone. “It was I who opened the doors. I’ve been consumed with guilt and shame because of it. I offered to marry you then, but you wouldn’t, remember? I asked you again….”

  “Yeah, with a reason attached! You never did trust me,” she cried. “Not once did you give me the benefit of the doubt. Please take the lantern and go to the bunkhouse. I’m going to bed.” She attempted to swish past him on her way to the kitchen with the glasses, but his arm stopped her. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her hungrily. “Darling,” he whispered. “I want you so much.” His moist lips sought her lips again, smothering feeble protests.

  For a long moment, Dayme clung to him, returning the kiss with fervent passion. Morgan had been gone a long time. A nagging guilt played in the back of her mind for betraying Morgan, for wanting Benjamin. Silently, she cursed the physical attraction she had for the man. She pushed him away. “Don’t…don’t! I’m a married woman! I am Morgan’s wife. I love my husband. What are you trying to do? Make me an adulteress? Go on to the bunkhouse.”

  “You were mine first,” he whispered. “Morgan stole you from me.”

  “It isn’t fair to Morgan.”

  According to Morgan, you do not love enough to share his bed, Benjamin thought. But he dared not tell Dayme. “You’re right, absolutely right, Mrs. Edwards. Forgive me. I couldn’t resist the temptation. You’re so lovely, and I want you so. I’ve dreamed many times of holding you again.” He took the lantern and started for the door. He paused just long enough to tell her, “I did come to court you, Dayme. The fact that you’re married to Morgan will not deter my efforts.”

  Alone in her bedroom, confused…excited…worried, Dayme stared out the window at the grotesque shadows of oak thickets. A jungle of thoughts traversed her mind. “IF the child is mine….” Benjamin’s insulting words slapped at her brain while thoughts of Morgan echoed, mingling intermittently in between heartbeats with the memory of Benjam
in’s kiss and how she had almost lost control. “It’s so typical,” she whispered in her anxiety. “He would marry me to claim his son, no matter how late the date. But, of course, he would. Whether he truly loves me or not.”

  Chapter 35

  The noise of shuffling feet on the plank floor and the persistent coughing of one of the wranglers awakened Benjamin from a fitful sleep. It was pitch dark outside. The exception was the illuminated campfire. The smell of bacon frying wafted through the open door. Soon alone, Benjamin forced himself up and sat on the edge of the lumpy mattress. He felt that he couldn’t have slept more than half an hour what with the snoring, the coughing and the blast of a shotgun a couple of hours ago. Reiterating last night, he worried that perhaps he came on too strong about the boy. I must choose my words carefully, he thought, or I’ll bungle the whole scene. Someway, I must talk Dayme into going with me. He chuckled to himself. Old Morgan doesn’t have a chance. She’s still stuck on me. I can see it in her eyes even though she insisted that she loves Morgan. Today she learns about my inheritance and the good life I can give her and Daniel Lee.

  The camp cook was unshaven, a man in his late forties. Benjamin noted he was a war veteran for he still wore a greasy, battered Confederate hat. He surmised the man had been in the cavalry.

  “Get up pretty early around here,” Benjamin remarked, extending a hand. “My name is Farrington. Benjamin Atwood Farrington. Thought I’d never find an empty bunk last night.” He shivered in the nippy morning air and wondered why the man wore no shirt under his suspenders.

  The cook gripped the extended hand firmly. “Howdy. I’m Jake Kuhl.” He pointed toward the corral with a meat fork. “That big ugly feller over yonder leading that dun horse is the ranch foreman, Ace Hopkins.”

  “I met him last night.”

  “That dried up puncher a-saddlin’ that buckskin is Charley Nail. We all call him ‘Ten Penny’. The others will be holler’n for breakfast before I can get it cooked. Pete Miller’s in the toilet, and the rest took to the bushes. I heard you come in last night. Kind of late, wasn’t it.” A grin played on Kuhl’s lips as he observed Benjamin's attire. “You the circuit preacher?” He came closer to stirring the bacon than turning it with the fork.

  “No. I’m an attorney.” He grinned back and shrugged. “I suppose I do look a bit odd. My luggage wasn’t loaded on the train.” It was the truth, and it saved his pride with the rough and tumble ranchman.

  “Sound like a Yankee.” The cook dropped dough-dad biscuits into sizzling hot grease in a Dutch oven and scooped coals onto the indented lid.

  “You’re not the first to make that mistake. I was a captain under Gen. Buxton Bragg’s Confederate command. I was born and reared in Mississippi.”

  Kuhl spit out a plug of tobacco. “Folks ‘raise’ children in these parts.”

  “I was educated in Massachusetts. I suppose that accounts for my diction. I note that you, too, were a Confederate. Mr. Kuhl.”

  “Yep. First Sergeant, Company D, Gore’s 13th regiment, Tennessee Volunteers.” The cook broke an egg and dropped the white into the boiling coffee pot that he’d set off the fire. Then he poured in a tin cupful of cold water.

  “Why the egg white?”

  “Settles the grounds. They collect around the egg and settle to the bottom. Help yourself.”

  He seated himself on a nearby stump, sipping coffee and listening to unfamiliar coyote howls blending with the crowing rooster awakening the hens, cooing doves, grunting hogs and lowing milk cows. He watched the dark ranch house, wondering which room was Dayme’s.

  “You do all the cooking?” Benjamin asked Jake Kuhl, not caring one way or the other if the man answered.

  “Naw. We take turns. Just happens to be my week.”

  The foreman swaggered over and poured himself a cup of coffee. “Jake, I’ll swan, you get slower all the time. You’re worse’n some old woman. I want you over in the north pasture checkin’ windmills by the time that sun comes up.”

  “Ain’t no way I kin clean up this mess an’ get over there before sunup, Ace. I’m hurryin’ fast as I can. I am no magician. Dad-burn it! Look what you made me do. Burned my dad-burned finger.”

  “Mr. Hopkins….”

  “There are no any misters on the T-Cross. Call me Ace.”

  “Yes. Could I buy one of your horses?”

  Hopkins shook his head. “They belong to Morgan, and he’s gone to Mississippi. He hasn’t seen the horse he wouldn’t sell for the right price.”

  “Could I please rent a mount? Whatever the cost, I’ll gladly pay.”

  Ace Hopkins lifted his hat. He smoothed back graying hair before answering Benjamin. “Nope. Guests of the boss don’t pay. Take your pick. That black gelding over yonder is pretty frisky. The paint mare is old but gives a smooth ride. You a good rider?”

  “I’m an accomplished rider. The black gelding will do fine.”

  Hopkins chuckled and almost choked on scrambled eggs. “We’ve got some good riders but can’t say as I,” He coughed a couple of times. “Can’t say as I ever saw an accomplished rider. Wish I could stay an’ watch.” He tossed the fork into a bucket of water and mounted his horse. “Be seeing you. Got work to do so we can quit early. Today is Saturday night.” He galloped off toward the west behind Pete Miller.

  Ten Penny cleaned his plate, wiping the last of the grease off with a biscuit. “Those biscuits are doughy, Jake. You gotta get up earlier.”

  “Didn’t sleep a wink last night,” Jake grumbled. “Laid there wide awake all night, rollin’ and tumblin’. Didn’t shut a eye.”

  Ten Penny laughed. “That’s no way to try to go to sleep, Jake. Why don’t you try bein’ still. I wouldn’t sleep either if I cut didos all night. Shuttin’ your eyes helps too.” He tossed the cold coffee from his cup. “Well, guess I’ll go haul off that dead skunk.”

  Kuhl looked up with a surprised expression. “What skunk?”

  “That little black an’ white critter yonder by the barn. I shot him out the window last night right by your bed.” Ten Penny rode off with the skunk in a tow sack, still laughing.

  After all the wranglers left the campfire, Benjamin hunkered back down on a stump waiting for daylight. He watched flickering lamps in two of the bedrooms. He was apprehensive about seeing this child who might be his son. He lit the pipe he bought in Mason and stared at the ranch house. His mind was crowded with unanswered questions. One of the lamps disappeared, reappearing in the kitchen at the rear of the house. He hoped that it was Dayme.

  Erika’s cheerful voice greeted him as she opened the back door of the spacious kitchen. Her hands were covered with flour. “Come in, Mr. Farrington. Excuse my hands. There’s coffee if you like. The cups are in the cupboard on your left.” She returned to cut out the biscuits. “I’ll shust put your name in the breakfast pot, too.”

  “No, madam. Thank you. I dined with the men.” He seated himself in a cowhide covered straight chair. “Is Mrs. Edwards up?”

  “Oh, yes,” Erika replied. “She’s up already yet. In the boys’ room, helping the tykes get dressed. Those little rascals keep one of us busy all the time.”

  Benjamin heard the shuffle of tiny feet and little boy giggles in the long hallway. He was standing when Dayme ushered the youngsters in. His eyes fell on Daniel Lee, and his mind flashed back to the old painting of himself as a child that hung in his mother’s bedroom. The boy had the same sharply defined English features as all Farrington men, deep-set eyes, determined chin. He was satisfied Daniel Lee was his son.

  To impress Benjamin, Dayme considered wearing a pretty yellow gingham dress. On second thought, she wore Levis, as usual. It was a defiant move on her part. She knew how he felt about women wearing trousers. She was determined not to condescend to his pleasure. He was on her turf.

  “So-o-o, this is Daniel Lee I’ve heard so much about.” Benjamin’s eyes refused to leave the dark-haired child for a long moment. “And you are Alexander,” he hastened to add. “Fine l
ooking pair of boys, Dayme.” He was casual and pleasant, giving no indication of disapproval of Dayme’s apparel. He smiled as he held a chair for her, then his eyes returned to the dark-haired youngster.

  “Good morning, children.” Erika greeted the boys with a sunny smile. “Got a kiss for me?”

  Daniel Lee planted a wet kiss on Erika’s plump cheek. He was closely followed by Alexander’s warm hug and smack on the lips. They climbed onto a bench next to the wall.

  “Hungry?” Erika asked. “Ve got ‘ham and’ with hot biscuits and Alsatian Brindle Gravy.”

  The blonde-haired boy studied Benjamin curiously. “Can I have jelly?”

  “Sure, all the chelly your tummies can hold after you eat a good breakfast. It vill be your next’.”

  “I ain’t gonna eat no eggs,” Daniel Lee grumbled crossly. “Don’t want no old loose gravy either. I like thick gravy like my daddy does.”

  “You don’t want ‘any’, Daniel Lee,” his mother corrected.

  “Milk gravy is best for your digestion in the early morning,” Erika advised. “Thickened gravy goes better with steak. My papa insisted on his brindle milk gravy every morning of his life.”

  “I want flap jacks and surp like Ten Penny makes, or I won’t eat nothin’.”

  A crimson blush crept over Dayme’s face. “You’ll eat what Erika has prepared, young man,” Dayme admonished. “My, we’re cross this morning. Perhaps you’d better go back to bed and get up on the other side. Not another word or there’ll be no breakfast for you and no play. Sit up straight.”

  The striking resemblance between the man and the boy didn’t go unnoticed by the housekeeper. Nor did she fail to observe the man’s obvious fascination with the child.

  “How old are you, Daniel Lee?”

  The child held up four fingers, then leaned over and whispered to his mother. “Who is that man? How did he know my name? Why’s he lookin’ at me?” All the time, Daniel Lee pointed to Benjamin.