by Shirl Henke
Coming toward the hacienda from the rear, Rafe saw Joe on the patio and knew at once the reason for Micah's cryptic remark. “I'd almost take you for a town man, not Joe De Villiers,” he said, eyeing his friend's transformation in puzzlement.
“Rafe! When'd ya get back? Deborah's been worryin' somethin' fierce.” Noticing the way his partner stared at him, Joe's face took on a beet red flush. “Er, wal, Deborah's been learnin' me how ta act 'n dress good 'nough ta be ‘round ladies—Don't you go sayin' nothin', neither!” he added belligerently as he watched the beginnings of teasing laughter dance in Rafe's eyes.
“Why, Joe, I always thought your manners were just fine. So did Lucia. My wife hasn't been giving you any trouble in my absence, has she?” he questioned in mock gravity.
Joe rose to the bait. “Don't you go sayin' nothin' agin Deborah! She's been helpin' me—that is, she—oh, shit...” He trailed off as he saw Lucia come out the backdoor headed in their direction.
Fresh from her bath with her hair in damp ringlets about her temples, she looked like a vision to Joe in her simple white blouse and red skirt. But her eyes flew to Rafe and she walked past Joe without even seeing him. “Rafe, you've been gone so long! Deborah is frantic with worry.”
“Where is Deborah?” he asked, his troubled gaze traveling toward the house.
“Upstairs with Adam,” Joe replied crossly.
Sensing his friend's anger and puzzled by his uncharacteristic behavior, Rafe reached a decision. “I need to talk to her.” With that he turned and headed toward the house.
No use worrying this any longer or dragging Joe into the tangle. I have to face it now. His expression grim, Rafe climbed the stairs, heading in the general direction of splashing and laughter. Adam had just gotten out of the tub and Deborah was rubbing him with a towel as he squirmed and shook like a playful puppy.
“Who's getting wet and who's getting dry?” Rafe asked, and was rewarded with a delighted squeal from Adam who flew into his father's arms, trailing an unraveling bath towel across the floor.
“Papa, we missed you! Next time I wanna go along 'n catch wild horses, too!”
Tousling the wet curly hair, Rafe replied, “Maybe next time. But now, you get dressed for bed.” With that he set the boy down and gave him a playful swat, sending him toward his room where a clean nightshirt was laid out.
“You're back so late, Rafael. Did you have supper?” Deborah asked.
He looked at her, standing so near, yet so far away, his beautiful Moon Flower. I cannot lose her. “I'm not really hungry,” he replied, pulling her into his arms. “I've missed you, wife,” he whispered, burying his face in the silky curls falling around her neck.
Deborah could smell male sweat, horse, and leather, all the familiar scents of her husband, the Texian rancher. Eagerly, she embraced him, sensing the hesitance and tension in him. “And I have missed you, beloved,” she whispered back.
“I'm sorry, Moon Flower,” he said painfully, unable to frame an apology for his curt and distant behavior.
“Only share your trouble with me, Rafael,” she pleaded.
He nodded silently. They tucked their son in bed and Deborah went downstairs to have Dom fetch some bathwater for her trail-dusty husband.
When she came into their room with a small tray laden with leftover dinner, Rafael was immersed in a tub, vigorously scrubbing off days of grime.
“I'm afraid your arrival quite spoiled my matchmaking plans for tonight, but we'll have to be patient,” she said, depositing the tray on the bedside table.
“Matchmaking...Joe and Lucia?” he asked incredulously.
“Yes, but Joe's sulky because Lucia was more interested in scolding you than noticing his transformation.”
Rafe considered the possibility for a moment, shaking his head in wonder. “I never would have believed the two of them, but seeing what you've done with him, I guess it could work.”
“He's been in love with her for years, just as she's been in love with you, Rafael,” Deborah said gently.
He looked up at her suddenly, trying to read the emotion behind her words. “I never—”
“I know. Lucia told me and I believed her, but she's been so besotted with her unrequited love that she's missed a chance for real happiness with a man who adores her,” she said as she headed toward the tub with a towel.
“Joe and Lucia, I'll be damned,” he murmured beneath his breath. Then recalling his own dilemma, he began hesitantly, “Deborah, I received a letter from Lily.” He felt her hands freeze as she handed him the towel. “She's married now.” He paused uncertainly.
“That should make you happy,” she said stiffly.
“Frankly, it is a relief.” He paused and then continued, “Her mother and sister were killed in St. Louis—”
“Oh.” Her hand flew to her mouth. “She doesn't want Melanie living with her!”
“She thoughtfully sent me the name of a girls' school in Virginia. Melanie could be admitted as white, neatly solving the problem for both of us.” He finished drying off and reached for a gray flannel robe lying across the bed.
“But you don't want your daughter raised as an orphan, alone in a boarding school,” she said. Her heart felt torn in two, seeing his anguish, yet afraid of how Lily's daughter could complicate their still tenuous relationship.
He tied the belt of the robe with a rough jerk and faced her. “Yes, I guess that's it, baldly put. Once, I would have sent her to Virginia without a thought, but now...”
She smiled wistfully. “No, Rafael, as much as you've changed, my love, you were ever the doting papa. You'd never have left your child in the care of strangers, not then, not ever. But now you're willing to bring her beneath your roof and give her your name. I'll make an abolitionist of you yet, my love.”
He crossed the room and seized her by the shoulders. “Oh, Moon Flower, I love you so much, I never wanted you to be hurt by my past again. I swore I'd never do this to you, but now, now...” He let his arms drop helplessly.
Swallowing the tears clogging her throat, Deborah took his face between her hands and said, “Rafael, I can still see her as a little girl that day when I barged in Lily's house on Rampart Street. She was so small and so frightened. Melanie is your daughter. I'll make her mine, too. Bring her home to Renacimiento!”
Chapter Twenty Nine
Deborah scanned the horizon, looking for riders in the hazy distance. No one. It had been over four weeks since Rafael had left for Galveston, taking four armed vaqueros with him. Of course, returning with a young girl would slow them down considerably.
“You still frettin' ‘bout thet youngun, Deborah.” Joe didn't even ask it as a question. He strolled across the front yard, following her gaze to the southwest.
“I'm afraid so. I—I guess I'm not sure what to expect or even how to act around her,” she said uncertainly.
“She'll be a scared twelve-year-old female, thet's all, nothin' fer ya ta get rattled ‘bout.”
“As if you haven't been rattled by a certain twenty-nine-year-old female?” she shot back at him without rancor.
“Now, thet's different, 'n anyone with the sense o' a half-baked brick'd know it,” he retorted with a touch of pettishness. His suit with Lucia had not been going well, largely because of his reticence in putting it forth. After the unfortunate beginning the night Rafe returned from mustanging, Joe had been unwilling to try again.
Preoccupied about Melanie's arrival and what it portended for her troubled marriage, Deborah had not pursued her matchmaker's role very effectively. Considering the sad stalemate between Charlee and Jim in San Antonio, she was not at all convinced of her skill in mending other people's relationships.
* * * *
Rafe smiled at the pretty picture Melanie made as she perched on the wagon seat. He could scarcely believe the beautiful young lady riding so primly next to him was really his baby daughter. What an enchantress she'd be in a couple of years! However, he could already foresee trouble. That y
oung Tejano, Lee Velasquez, had been struck by her startling poise and promise, he was sure.
Darkly, he recalled his surprising welcome in Galveston. Melanie’s ship had arrived a week early and Jim Slade's young friend, there on a horse buying assignment, had apparently rescued her from all sorts of misadventures. Rafe was not at all certain he felt grateful to Velasquez, who had spent the week in Galveston acting as her chaperon—as if an eighteen-year-old boy was any kind of chaperon for a twelve-year-old girl!
“Melanie, you've been awfully quiet since we left the steamer,” he said. “Were you daydreaming about young Lee Velasquez?”
Melanie's pretty mouth made a dainty moue. “Hardly, Papa! He was an absolute beast, treating me as if I were a child.”
“A grave mistake for certain,” he agreed solemnly.
She dimpled at him. “Oh, Papa, I'm so glad to have found you again!”
The worshipful delight in her expressive little face tugged at his heart. “And I am so glad I found you, princess.”
Her lower lip quivered for an instant as she said, “If only Grandmère and Tante Therese could have come, too. We could be a family again.”
“We've been over that, Melanie,” Rafe replied gently. “Losing two people you love is very hard, especially so suddenly; but you must remember all the good times you had with them and how much they wanted you to be happy. And I promise you, you will be happy in your new home, little one.”
With the mercurial temperament of a child, her expression changed from tearfulness to pleading. “I still don't see why I must live in the same house with her. Couldn't we live in another house, close by but separate? She was so mad at you and me in New Orleans. Why does she want me now? She has her own little boy.” Melanie couldn't bring herself to say Deborah's name.
Oh, Lord, Deborah, you will need the patience of your Puritan saints to win her over, he thought woefully. Aloud he replied, “Deborah wasn't angry with you, Melanie. She and I had a disagreement, but it wasn't your fault. Deborah wants you and Adam to grow up like a real brother and sister.”
“You're my papa and his, too, I know, but she isn't my mother,” Melanie insisted with the stubborn logic of a child.
“Melanie, who loved you more, your mother or Aunt Therese?”
Melanie stared at him, her eyes beginning to glaze with tears. “You know Mère never loved me. She never even wanted me to live with her, but Grandmère and Tante Therese did. They loved me.”
“Deborah wants you to live with us. She will love you, too, just as they did, if you give her a chance, Melanie. Will you try, princess?” He held his breath.
Swallowing a tight lump in her throat, she nodded glumly. “I'll try, Papa.”
* * * *
The midday meal at Renacimiento was about half over and Adam had spilled his milk only once. Deborah was counting it a good omen, when she heard the sounds of hoof beats out front.
Adam, who had been quite excited about his father’s return with a new sister, jumped up from his chair, overturning his milk again. “They're here, they're here!”
Lucia reached her hand across the table to Deborah. “Don't look as if you're going to an execution, Deborah. She's only a little girl.”
“So Joe told me,” Deborah replied in a shaky voice. It had been six years since she had seen Rafael's small, dark-haired daughter. The sullenly beautiful young woman being helped down from the wagon looked alarmingly like a smaller version of Lily Duvall at first glance. Only upon drawing closer could Deborah see how young she was, as well as how tired. Her figure had begun budding, but she was still a very pretty child, not the young femme fatale she tried to appear. Her large gold coin eyes were round with confusion and the reserved manner Deborah first thought hauteur was, in fact, fright.
Rushing out to greet them, Deborah gave the girl a gentle hug, pulling her close. “Melanie, welcome to your new home. Your father and I want you to be very happy here.”
“Yes, ma'am,” came the rote reply with a proper curtsy.
“Please, Melanie, I want you to call me Deborah.” At least for now, Deborah thought, hoping to win a daughter's love from the lonely little girl.
Adam stood back, looking at his new sister in awe. She was taller that he, and dressed like a grown up lady, hardly the boon companion he had envisioned to ride ponies and climb trees!
Kneeling, Rafe drew Adam and Melanie to him and made the introductions. “Melanie, this is your brother, Adam. Adam, this is your sister, Melanie. I want you to take special care making her welcome in her new home.”
Adam nodded, looking up at Melanie uncomfortably. He positively hated the way she seemed to look down her nose at him. “I can take you down to the corral and let you pick out a pony. Then we could go riding tomorrow,” he said, looking at his father for approval.
Before Rafe could reply, Melanie did so. “I don't ride horseback. Ladies in St. Louis ride in carriages.”
Adam let out a snort of disgust. “This ain't St. Louis—it's Texas 'n everybody rides, even my mama, ain't that right, Papa?”
“Isn't, not ain't, Adam,” Deborah corrected automatically, but before she could deal with Adam's hostility, Rafe interceded.
“Melanie, you will have to learn to ride a horse in Texas,” he replied gently.
“And I'll be very happy to teach you although I'm not a very good rider. We shall practice together.” Deborah gave Melanie a smile, but the child did not respond.
“I'll learn to ride if you say so, Papa,” she said primly, turning to Rafe and ignoring Deborah.
“I think you've had enough excitement for now, princess. We'll save the horses and riding for another day. I want you to meet some special friends of mine and then Deborah will show you your room.”
Melanie's reactions to Lucia and Joe were as punctiliously correct and cool as they had been to Deborah and Adam.
“She's scared to death, poor li'l critter,” Joe said to Lucia later that evening after Deborah and Rafe had taken their children upstairs to put them to bed.
Lucia stirred her coffee in perplexity. “That is true, but she's also spoiled and willful. She'll try to drive a wedge between her papa and his wife and son.”
Joe snorted. “Rafe's crazy ‘bout thet boy! 'N his woman—why ya know she's all he cud think on fer all th' years they wuz separated.”
“Guilt can be a very powerful emotion,” Lucia said cryptically.
* * * *
“You never told me she'd be all grown up. She's taller 'n me,” Adam practically wailed.
Rafe propped one foot on a split rail of the corral and looked at his son's woebegone expression. “She's twelve years old, Adam. By the time you're twelve, you'll be lots taller than Melanie, I promise.”
“But that'll take years,” he said, mulishly digging his hands into his pants pockets. “Anyway, she said she didn't want to go riding with me this morning, even though Joe rigged up that dumb sidesaddle. Said she'd wait ‘til you could take her,” he added accusingly, affixing his father with a baleful stare.
Rafe sighed. “Maybe we'll all ride together. Let's go up to the house and see.” With Adam in tow Rafe headed toward the kitchen where the women were working.
Melanie had been at Renacimiento for two weeks now and was still behaving like a stranger, politely refusing all overtures of friendship from Deborah, Adam, Joe, and Lucia. She clung desperately to her father, constantly vying with Deborah and Adam for his attention. She was a perfect little lady, mannerly and prim, but very distant. At least that's what Rafe had seen, until he reached the courtyard and heard the din of angry female voices coming from the kitchen.
“You can't make me do that! It's servants' work! At home in St. Louis—even with Mère in New Orleans, we had slaves to wash dishes. It's your job, not mine. My papa owns this ranch!” Melanie's voice was shrill.
Rafe sent Adam to the library across the courtyard and entered the kitchen where Lucia and Melanie were embattled. The antagonists stood across a large, sudsy pan ful
l of breakfast dishes.
“Here everyone works, Melanie. We have no slaves. And you'll treat Lucia with respect. She's been in charge of this household for six years. She's a partner here, not your servant.” Rafe's voice was soft, but the steel beneath was unmistakable.
“I've never cooked or washed dishes,” the child burst out in a desperate wail.
“You're living in Texas now, Melanie. When I left New Orleans, I had to learn to do a lot of things I'd never done before either. I worked with my hands in the dirt, sweated, and grew calluses. Men and women have to do hard labor to build a place like Renacimiento. We're building a whole new country. You have a chance to be part of that.” Rafe watched the trembling pout form on Melanie's face. “Now apologize to Lucia for your rudeness.”
Deborah stood in the door watching the scene. Part of her was grateful that Rafe had finally discovered the child's spoiled behavior for himself, but part of her ached for a frightened girl. The class system in New Orleans had taught her well. If the Flamencos were above her, people like Lucia and the cowhands were beneath her. She doesn't understand the rules here, Deborah thought.
Woodenly, hating the tears that overflowed her golden eyes, Melanie lowered her head. “I'm sorry, Lucia,” she murmured. Then, casting a pained glance at her father, she fled the room.
Deborah motioned to Rafe to let her go, then followed the child upstairs to her room.
The small bedroom was cozy and bright with its soft yellow curtains letting in the morning light like rich butterscotch. Although doubtless not as elegant as her room in her grandmother's brownstone in St. Louis, it was perfect for a young girl, carefully decorated in yellows and rusty reds with dainty white pine furniture. Deborah had worked hard to make her new daughter feel at home. So far, all had been for naught.
“Melanie, I want you to tell me how you feel—about the new rules at the ranch, about Adam and me”—she took a quick breath for courage—“and about your mother and your papa and your life in St. Louis and New Orleans. Don't hold anything back.” She sat on the edge of the bed and stroked the girl's lustrous raven hair.