by Caryl McAdoo
Grinning like a freed slave, he strolled in holding a big bottle of alcohol and two elegant stemmed glasses. She shut and locked the door then faced him. “Just like you said! I couldn’t believe it! The whole thing went exactly as you said it would.”
“I was there, remember?”
She laughed. “Yes, you were! I about had a stroke when the rancher’s third king fell, but oh! I do love the ace of spades! You’re the Jack for sure, but I’m the Queen of Spades.”
When he unwrapped the top of the bottle, it popped loud like a gunshot, and she squealed. He grinned and poured the two glasses. Holding one out to her, he winked. “Time to celebrate, Queenie. You ever tasted champagne?”
“Not before tonight.” She took a long drink. “Umm, it’s so bubbly.”
Before the sun brightened the new day, Lacey Rose awoke to the reality of her actions. Jack snored softy next to her.
Oh, Lord, what have I done?
Charley handed his letter to the general, waited until his uncle finished reading it, then took it back. “Sir, the next cotton train isn’t due for a week. With your permission, I’d like a few days of leave.”
Henry leaned back. The man had aged considerable. Charley liked the salt and pepper beard he now sported and wondered how long Aunt May would let him keep it once the war finally ended.
“What do you have in mind, Son?”
“I can be across the Rio Grande in two days, two back will give me three there to see if I can find out anything.”
“No telling where she is, Charley. The last anyone knew, she got on a stage in DeKalb headed east, and that was a good while ago. Who could be sure she really even went to find the Comanche? She might have only been trying to frighten her mother.”
“You’ve known about Miss Laura calling her a half-bred and her running off?”
He nodded. “Nothing anyone could do, short of deserting.”
“But if I’d only been aware sooner….”
“Even then, there was no guarantee any of us could have tracked her down. May and Chester put a reward for her safe return, but so far, not one word.”
“Still, sir, with all due respect, I’d like to try. If there is a white woman living with the People, I can find out.”
“Liable to get your hair lifted.”
“No, sir. I still speak Comanche, and in case you’ve forgotten, that bunch Bold Eagle sent to steal me and Mama didn’t lay a hand on any of us.”
The General smirked a bit. As though of all his days, that one he’d ever forget. “I suppose Houston and Bart are clamoring to go with you?”
“Yes, sir, but if you give permission, I told them only to Laredo. They’d slow me down across the river.”
“We got nine mounts that will hold up to the trip?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Your daddy and Wallace know about this?”
“Yes, sir. Wouldn’t be standing here if they didn’t.”
His Uncle Henry fell silent then nodded. “Don’t expect a rescue party, and both those boys best light out back here if you’re late.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
“Don’t thank me. I love that girl, too.”
Chapter Six
After that first night, Lacey Rose didn’t see a reason—or really want to—tell Jack no. Maybe not in her mother’s eyes or the world’s, but far as God was concerned, she became a married woman that first night.
She hinted at it a time or two, but the words never came out right. No, nothing like hey, let’s make it legal.
Nothing simple and to the point anyway.
And he never took her bait.
On the bright side, poker proved quite profitable; winning way more than she lost, life was grand…except for the nights he didn’t come to her room. She wanted to follow him, but didn’t dare. A part of her figured he was still seeing other women, but…maybe she didn’t want to know for sure and certain.
From St. Louis, he took her to Chicago then on to New York, winning and spending money like the supply would never end. She loved the traveling, and he stayed with her most nights since he didn’t know women in every new town.
Then one night in a seedy little private club on a side street off Broadway, everything changed.
As always, Alexandra came alone a solid hour after Jack, flitted and flirted, won some, lost some until the chowderheads and shoe clerks got weeded out. Like most nights, it came down to one last table of winners.
Not long after midnight, her two red aces appeared, one up and the other in the hole. Her favorite hand!
The gent in front of her had himself a pair of kings showing. That night, same as that first so many months ago, he caught his third king on the last round. The ace of spades fell for her.
Without hesitation, he bet the pot, three thousand two hundred fifty dollars. She called, but before she could turn over her third ace, the man next to Jack—who’d been dealing—jumped to his feet.
“Hold it right there! Spade here’s been dealing seconds.”
Her mentor jumped to his feet. “What are you talking about?”
The club’s owner strolled in with a rather large man at his side. Lacey made herself avoid Jack’s eyes, but she couldn’t make her heart stop pounding in her chest.
“What’s the ruckus?”
“Spade here is dealing seconds. The ace of spades was on the bottom of the deck a minute ago, now the lady has it. If I’m figuring right, she has a third ace in the hole.”
The owner’s man reached over her shoulder and flipped the red ace. “Looks like they’re working together, boss.”
“That right? You and Spade in cahoots?”
She stood slowly and faced the proprietor. Hoping with everything in her that Alexandra could pull it off, she tilted her chin. “Sir, I have been seeing Mister Spade here and there, around town, at games. But I don’t know this word ‘cahoots’…exactly what are you asking?”
“Are you working together? You and him partners?”
“Heavens, no!”
The man faced Jack’s accuser. “You sure it weren’t the ace of clubs you saw?”
“Positive.” He flipped over the pile of discards, the ace of clubs showed the third turn. “I’ve suspected him before. The man’s a cheat I tell you.”
“Break his fingers.”
“What? No!” She didn’t have to feign her indignation. “That’s barbaric! I demand you call the proper authorities. Let them sort this out.”
The ruffian grabbed Jack then smiled at Lacey. “What do you care if you don’t know the scumbag?”
She ran around the table. “Please, don’t hurt him.”
Jack glared at her.
Then his screams drowned out her own. One at a time, the baboon bent each finger sideways until it snapped.
Then it was over, and they threw him out.
She helped him back to her room, woke the clerk, and insisted he find a doctor and a bottle of whiskey. The hooch helped some, but had about worn off by the time the doctor showed.
Praise the Lord for laudanum.
After a third swig of the elixir, chased with the last of the whiskey, Jack closed his eyes just as the new day broke. Then Lacey closed her own.
“Oh, no.” He sat up in bed, holding his hands out.
The late morning sun shone bright through the eastern window.
“What’s the matter, need more medicine?”
“Yes, but then you’ve got to go to the Astor House and check me out. Fetch my bags and tell the clerk there was an accident. See if he’ll give you a refund. The key is in my pants’ pocket.”
She pushed herself out of the rocker. “The Astor on Broadway? What room number?”
“Thirty-four, and Baby, I’m registered under Jackson Spencer.”
She started to ask why, but what difference did it make? She’d signed in at the Howard as Alexandra, so who wasn’t lying?
The Astor House no less.
And while he made her stay in sec
ond class hotels. Well, he got himself caught double dealing, but she was the fool. What if those bawdies had broken her fingers, too? She’d known Jack was a cheater—a double-dealing swindler.
After a short ride in a hired carriage, she climbed the stairs to the third floor then stuck the key in room four.
“Jack? That you?”
“No.”
“Well, whoever you are then, come back later. I’m not dressed.”
Lacey followed the female’s voice through the rather large sitting room to the master suite. “What are you doing in here?”
“What’s it to you? Clean and get out.”
“I am not the housekeeper.”
“Don’t tell me he’s got a daughter?”
“No. He’s nowhere near old enough to be my father. I’m his partner. Who are you? And what are you doing here?” Her chest tightened, and breaths came only with full purpose.
“Wow.” The lady grabbed a housecoat. “Where did he dig you up, Sweetie? I mean I knew he likes them young, but what are you? Fifteen?”
Lacey shook her head.
A sporting woman Jack hired.
Fighting back tears, she cleared her throat. “Look, ma’am, there’s been an accident, and he’s going to be staying with me. I’ve come to check him out. You best get dressed and get out….”
How could she be such a fool?
She shrugged. “Or stay. I don’t care, but I’m checking him out.” Without another look at the floozy, she went to gathering his things. After a double check, she left the woman inside, closed the door to room four, then stopped at the front desk. She turned in his key and asked for his refund.
“Sorry, ma’am. Hate to hear about Mister Spencer’s accident, but we don’t offer refunds.”
She started to protest, but decided better of it. Jack needed her and spending another minute under the same roof with his whore…her stomach soured more by the minute.
July 28th 1863
Charley scooped a second helping of taters then passed the bowl to Houston. When his plate had no more room, he looked to the head of the table.
Uncle Henry held out his hands. Levi, on his right, took one, and Wallace to his left grabbed hold of the other, and so it went with all the others at the mess table. Every head bowed during the prayer.
Like always, Charley ate deliberately, never losing himself in a meal. Of all the lessons he’d learned from Bold Eagle, keeping his wits at all times had served him the best. The war chief dangling from the end of a rope still haunted his dreams, but the old boy had brought it on himself.
Should have left well enough alone. Pride propels a man to do all sorts of foolish things.
Shortly, with the meal finished, dishes cleared, and only family remaining—the general’s once a month indulgence that caused a few malcontents to grumble—Uncle Henry leaned forward with his elbows on the table.
Personally, Charley loved the time, almost like being at home. Figured the others were just jealous.
Everyone appreciated any time spent with Henry Buckmeyer.
“Got two pieces of news today.” He looked at each in turn then shook his head. “Lee engaged the Army of the Potomac at Gettysburg earlier this month.” Scanning the faces, he lowered his voice. “After three days of bloody battle, Bobby Lee ended up retreating. Reports say he’s vowing to fight on, but…” He checked the room and its entrances. “I do not want you taking any chances.”
Charley, and the other four answered in the affirmative.
Henry leaned back. His eyes watered, and his lips thinned. “Governor Houston died day before yesterday.”
“Oh, no. How?”
“Pneumonia.” For a bit he didn’t say more, then as though he’d grieved for his friend all he would allow himself, his face turned hard. “Our plans for a Second Republic died with him. We must survive this terrible war. Our families and Texas will need us more than ever.”
No one said anything, then Charley leaned out. “Uncle, I’d like some leave. Heard about a white woman the Comanche took in trade. Could be Lacey Rose.”
“Son, it’s been over two years now. I’d hate myself if something happened to you chasing rumors.”
“I agree, Little Partner.” Levi looked him in the eyes. “If Lee surrenders, then the war could be over in a few weeks…no more than a month. Once it is, Wallace and I will go with you. We’ll track Lacey down and do whatever it takes to bring her back home.”
“Can me and Bart go with them, Pa? We love Lacey more than anyone.”
Bart jumped to his feet. “I’m going with or without Houston, right, Pa?” He looked to Levi.
Before the Colonel could answer, Henry held his hands up. “Hold it, boys. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. In the meantime, we do our job and get through this war.”
Houston aimed then flipped his knife. It stuck into the board a quarter inch closer to the mark then Bart’s. “Ha, that’s six bits you owe me.”
“No, it’s only four.”
“Welcher, you said double.”
“Did not, said I ought to. Clean your ears out.” The younger boy couldn’t ever best him, and he knew it got his goat. “I said your luck was bound to run out.”
“Well, there it is. Pa says there’s no such thing as luck. I’m just better. Admit it. There’s no shame in being second best. Go ahead and admit it, and I’ll settle for two bits, seeing how you blew last month’s pay on that bottle of whiskey you’re too chicken to even yank the cork off of.”
Bart glanced around. “Hush, either of our Pa hears about that, we’ll be peeling taters for a month.”
“Not me.” Houston grinned. “I’m totally innocent in that nefarious plot you’ve hatched.” He looked around. “On the other hand, if I was to give you two dollars to go with the six bits you owe me, then we’d be full partners.” He hiked both eyebrows up and down, probably better than that actor he’d seen in that Austin Opera House last winter.
“Hmm.”
“What do you think? I’m not squeamish over jerking a cork. We can have us a little drink tonight.”
“Three, and we’re smooth.”
His pa would be aghast at him not dickering harder, but it was only giving Bart his own money back. At his last reckoning, Houston figured he was at least a sawbuck ahead. “Deal.”
That night after taps, Houston—with Bart on his heels like a shadow—slipped out of the barracks to the far side of the horse corral and found a nice spot on the backside of the haystack. He loved the smell of fresh cut prairie grass.
Being the oldest, he took the first drink.
Yeeooow! Liquid fire. Burnt all the way down then exploded in his belly like the whole Union Army set off a barrage of cannons. He worked hard at staying expressionless and handed the bottle to the closet thing he had to a brother.
“Smooth as silk.”
“Liar, I saw your face.” Bart wrapped his finger around the glass and held it up in the moon light. “Now I’ll show you how it’s done.” He took a long gulp, gasped, then his face screwed itself around. He swallowed hard then grinned. “I’d say more like warm buttermilk on a cold morning.”
Houston laughed. “We’re both liars.” He took the bottle back. That gulp burned, but not quite as white hot as the first. He’d rate the explosion on that slug only a single four pounder. Third round barely warmed his throat. The fourth redeemed his sin of bearing false witness and really did go down smooth as silk; akin to cool well water on a hot day.
“What are you boys doing?”
“Uncle Levi? Uh, Colonel, sir, uh….”
“Pa! What…where...uh, we was….”
Houston tried to hold it, but Bart was slurring his words and looked so pathetic. The hilarity of it erupted in too loud of a guffaw. He doubled over laughing, beating the ground with his fists.
He bit the blood out of his tongue trying to stay the flood of giggles, but it didn’t do no good. Then Bart got tickled.
Scrambling to his feet, Houston s
aluted, then everything went black right before his face hit something hard.
He woke with the General himself standing over him.
Oh, Lord, what had he done?
Chapter Seven
Levi Baylor studied the two sweaty, stinking privates standing at attention in front of him. “Hot enough for you two?”
“Yes, sir.” Houston beat Bart by half a beat.
“How’s your heads?”
The older grimaced but continued staring at the spot over Levi’s head, while Bart lowered his gaze an inch and pleaded with his eyes. “We’re about dead, sir. There any way –”
“Silence, soldier.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Besides today’s forage detail, you two will be busting that string of mustangs we just bought.”
Both boys closed their eyes, but neither said a word.
“At ease.”
Their eyes came open as they both relaxed. Houston leaned forward a hair. “Sir, may we speak freely?”
“No. Now there’s something I want to tell you two.” He hesitated a few hard swallows, remembering that day and how it could have changed his life forever. “I know for a fact both of you have heard the story about Henry saving Blue Dog.” He glanced at Wallace. “If memory serves, Rebecca told it again to Charlotte the night before we left.”
“I believe you’re right, Colonel.”
He faced the boys. “Ever wonder what I was doing that morning?”
Both the young men shook their heads.
“That’s the part that gets left out. I was fourteen and plenty full of myself, thinking I was a man. Though in the beginning I resented Henry…and Aunt Sue for hiring him…by that time, I’d seen the kind of man he truly was.
“I’d decided I wanted him to marry Auntie. I like to think I’d have…I don’t know, gone in the water with him? Shot that mongrel trying to kill Blue?
“But instead, I slept soundly inside, totally unaware he could have died. Almost did.”
Both boys’ eyes widened, then Bart shook his head. “Thought it was midmorning, Pa. The sun never beats you up.”