by Caryl McAdoo
If indeed there was a cousin.
Slicing through the chicken breast, she cut off a bite and speared some pasta. She smiled then ate the delicious entree. He returned his attention to his plate as well.
Once she swallowed, she took a long drink of water, washing it down. “I’ll consider your proposal, Nate, and tell you my decision at church on Sunday.”
Chapter Twenty-two
On the way home from her delicious Italian dinner, Lacey Rose found out there was indeed a cousin.
Older than Nate by six or ten years, said relative moved to New York after her beau jilted her for a younger girl. Nice enough, but….
Mother Humphries patted her hand. “She was never a looker. Nothing like you, dear. Oh my, you’re about the prettiest widow we’ve ever had here in Glenn Falls.”
Lacey bowed slightly then mouthed a thank you, but knew better. A mirror told a more accurate truth than a kind old lady. The only reason Nate asked her to go with him was the money.
Basically, Harold’s gift to her because she looked like his dead wife. “Mother, did you know Mister Longstreet’s first wife?”
“Oh yes, of course, dear. The poor thing. They were married barely a full year, then she and the boy died. Such a frail little slip of a thing, she just wasn’t strong enough. The Longstreets always had big babies.” She lifted her hand and held it. “You and she do favor, but she was always so pale and sickly.”
That night, Lacey woke from a dream that taunted from the very edge of her memory. It troubled her that she couldn’t remember it. In it, she’d seen or heard something important, just knew it in her knower.
That’s what her mother used to call it.
Said the Comanche put great stock in that inner voice.
What was she doing thinking about Bear Fang’s white squaw? Where would she be now if she’d gone west instead of east?
Most likely, some chief’s third wife like her Aunt Rose.
Sunday morning she woke with a start. But that time, she remembered. Two nights in a row, the same dream visited. Did that mean it was true?
Could crazy old Man Dithers be trying to tell her something important? She threw on her housecoat and hurried to the kitchen. The Humphries sat across from each other, having breakfast.
Coffee and small talk ensued until they finished their plates, then the mister went to fetch more wood for the cookstove.
“Mother, does Mister Dithers ever…uh… Could someone…uh…pay him to tell them something?”
“Oh no, dear, not that I know of. He isn’t a fortune teller at all. Those gypsy types are an abomination far as scriptures are concerned. God doesn’t want His children consulting with the likes.”
“I’ve never heard that. As far as I know, there weren’t any of those people in Texas. Well then, do you suppose I might stop by his place for a visit?”
“I don’t think that would be wise, dear. He doesn’t ever talk to anyone. Martha, she’s in my quilting circle, a few years older than Mister and me. Anyway, she remembered the old man coming to church once when she was just knee high to a grasshopper.”
“But that would be over sixty years ago. How could it be possible?”
“Precisely.” She shivered then hiked one shoulder. “But she recalls it clear as it happened yesterday. The man, looking much as he does today with his uncombed white hair and scraggly beard, walked in right during the middle of the preacher’s sermon and pointed his finger at the minster then shouted, ‘Repent.’ ”
Lacey waited for more of the tale, but her cook didn’t go on. “That’s mighty brazen. Repent of what? Do you know?”
“Well, no one knew at the time, but come to find out, once the feathers settled, he had himself a hid-a-way woman. According to Martha, the minister called Dithers a liar and claimed he had nothing to repent of.”
“What happened then?”
“You should hear her tell it in person.” Mother Humphries giggled like a little girl. “She tells it with such flair! But supposedly, the old man threw both his arms into the air and continued in a voice loud enough to be heard down the lane. ‘Lord, choose between me and this wolf in sheep’s clothing!”
Lacey leaned in closer. “Oh my. I can certainly see why your friend would remember the incident. What happened then?”
“Why, the minster dropped dead that same afternoon in the arms of the woman who wasn’t his wife.”
The back door opened, and a gust of cool wind swept in ahead of the mister. By that time in Texas, it would have scorched your chin whiskers if you had any. The old boy carried an armload of wood.
Mother winked then jumped up. “You get yourself ready, dear, while I cook you some breakfast.”
On the way to town, Lacey made up her mind. She’d pay her and Nate’s way to Baltimore. Might even buy his cousin a meal or two.
Like a little kid waiting for his father to get home from a long trip, Nate met the carriage then helped her down.
“I like that dress. Blue is your color.”
She took his arm. “Thank you. Harold used to say the same thing.”
He stopped and stepped aside. “Turns out going to Baltimore might be a fool’s errand. Got word yesterday the Radical Republicans have split from the party. Lincoln’s crowd has joined with the War Democrats and formed the National Union Party. The Radicals are meeting in Cleveland on the thirty-first.”
“So Lincoln will get the nomination?”
“Not necessarily. Some are putting forth Hannibal Hamlin’s name as a compromise.”
“Who’s that?”
He grinned. “The vice president.”
“Oh.” Lacey looked off, wishing she hadn’t shown her lack of political savvy. The faithful streamed toward the meeting hall. She looked back. “I still would like to go. See for myself if Mister Dithers is right.”
Surprised Marah how fast Charley progressed on her new water system. The cost had escalated, but not having to pump water by hand then haul it to each pasture would save so much time and effort, she could hardly imagine.
The whole plan proved simple really, once he showed her how it would work.
Almost to hilarity, Cookie remained skeptical, but the Texan kept reassuring her that water would be running into her washtub soon enough.
Marah found him in the pump house he’d built on the barn’s west outside wall. She didn’t say anything, just watched him work for a few seconds.
But he must have sensed her standing there and turned. “Afternoon.”
“How’s it coming?”
“Seems all I’ve done today is fix leaks, but I’m almost finished.”
“Really? We’ll have running water today?”
A grin and a nod told her everything she wanted to know. “It’s been working for the last hour, but I keep having to shut the water off, keeps on leaking. But I think I’ve got them all fixed now.”
A stray thought came home to roost. “What about when you’re not here? What do I do then if it leaks?”
“Wilhelm’s been helping. He’s handy.”
“That’s great. Oh, got a note from Mother. She’s coming next Wednesday, wants to get the convention results, then she said she’d take the first train back. Wants Wilhelm at the station. Will you help me remember?”
“Yes, ma’am.” His tone sounded submissive, but his eyes belied his words.
“Why are you looking like that?”
“Like what?”
Ooo, she hated it when he did that.
The young man infuriated her sometimes with the littlest things. Like saying she was beautiful, yet he hadn’t even tried to hold her hand much less anything else. “You know how you were looking.” He better watch it, she might just have to slap the truth out of him.
Rattling off something in the ‘People’s tongue,’ he winked. Him speaking Comanche, she hated even more. “You know I don’t like that.”
“Sorry.” He grinned. “I do, but you don’t like me telling you how pretty you are.”
She backed up a step.
Her leg bumped into something.
Glancing down, she discovered a five quart feed bucket full of water. Like the time she was twelve and Curry fifteen, she hoisted the pail and threw the water on him. Taken by complete surprise, he gasped then stared at her.
Was he angry? She grinned. “Uh oh.”
Jumping between her and the door, he grabbed her wrist. “You’ve done it now.” He pulled her to his chest, pressing his wet shirt into her dry blouse.
“You’re getting me all wet.” She giggled and squirmed, but his hold on her only tightened. His free hand around her back held her even closer. He stared into her eyes. At first, she matched his gaze, then had to look away.
The boy-man’s eyes probed where she allowed no one. She brought her lips up close to his, but he didn’t kiss her.
Instead, the hand on her back climbed and worked at freeing her hair while he kept a tight grip with the other.
“Well?” She managed that one word, but her voice threatened to fail her.
“Well what?” His breath warmed her cheeks.
“Aren’t you going to kiss me?”
“No. Not yet.” He continued freeing her locks.
Wriggling, she blew back on him. “Why not? You’ve been telling me how beautiful I am in two languages for weeks now.”
With the last of her tresses free and falling, he released her and plunged both his hands in it. He fluffed it out twice then brought long strands over each of her shoulders. She could run, if not for being paralyzed.
He put one hand back on the small of her back and pulled her in tight. Besides, she’d be a fool to go.
Burying his face into her hair and neck, he held her. Then he came up as if for breath and breathed deeply. No deeper than he looked into her eyes though.
Fingertips on her forehead, he guided her hair away from her face and put his lips on hers…kissed her ever so softly.
She kissed back harder and moved her arms to hold him tighter.
Too soon, he broke it off.
Playing with her hair, he teased her. “Tell me your life.”
“My life?” She tried to match his gaze, but couldn’t. Looking down, pressed against his chest, she shook her head. “Nothing to tell.”
“You cry yourself to sleep most nights, Marah. Why?”
Her cheeks burned. Who did that guy think he was? She pushed away. “Have you been eavesdropping?”
“Not at all. My room is only two doors down. Who’s Curry?”
“What difference does it make, Charley? Why do you want to know?” She was free. She should go. So why weren’t her legs running? Her feet carrying her away far and fast?
The bright light standing before her held her in place, drawing as if she were a gnat. A magnet, he drew her like a nail. Her head fell again, she couldn’t stand his scrutiny.
“I need to know.” He lifted her chin. “Are you married? Is Curry your husband?”
This time she wouldn’t look away. “He was. He died in the first Battle of Bull Run. My son is Curry, too, though. He’s fourteen. Away at school. We don’t get along.”
Though the words came out of her mouth, she couldn’t believe they’d taken voice. The speaking making them true, when she never…wanted to ever… Why was she telling this man her life?
“How long ago?”
“Three years…next month.” What kind of allure did he have over her? She stepped closer and unhooked his top button.
“Don’t.”
“Why not?”
“If I can’t find Lacey Rose…” He smiled, but his eyes held no mirth.
She wanted him to finish, but dared not ask.
Even more, she wanted him.
Deep into the wee hours, Charley sat by his bedroom window staring into the starlit night. His brandy tumbler long empty as his flask, but he’d determined to save Pauleen’s bottle.
Never mind how much he’d like another drink. His heart had some searching to do and needed him clear.
The two ladies were so different, and neither Lacey Rose, yet he found them so desirable. Married Pauleen presented no option at all; for sure, she’d never leave Albany.
And did Marah only desire someone to help her forget her dead husband? Would she consider leaving all that and moving to Texas?
What if he couldn’t find Lacey?
What if he did?
The girl he’d known all her life had soiled herself with the blackmailer, and now was consorting with the gambler. Was she even the same person? No. A lady now, she’d be twenty. No doubt she would govern her own actions, whether or not she’d return home. Might not even want to go back.
Could he convince her?
Freddie would come in another four days. Would she bring news of Lacey? Hadn’t indicated to her daughter if she’d heard anything, but maybe the publisher could only say it to his face? Could it be that bad?
No. He refused to let himself think that.
He would find her, and he would take her home. Like Wallace told him.
A cock’s crow jerked him upright. He blinked until realization dawned. The rooster called again. Another at least a mile away answered. He pushed himself out of the chair and eased on downstairs.
Cookie and Wilhelm sat the breakfast table. She acted like she was going to get up, but he held his hand out and stayed her, smiling.
“I can get my own coffee.”
Halfway through his second cup, Marah strolled in. A smile graced her beautiful face. Her hair so wild, it begged his fingers to tame it.
She slid in next to him then bumped his leg with her knee. “Good morning.”
“Morning. You’re looking extra gorgeous this fine day.”
She laughed then pressed her knee against his even harder. “I know better, but I admit, I do enjoy hearing you say such things.”
Chapter Twenty-three
The gavel came down, ending the Convention.
Whoops and hollers followed with backs slapped all around. Lacey stood and stepped into the aisle. Nate’s cousin joined her, and with the older woman by her side, she made her way out of the Front Street Theater.
If the smoke cloud in the balcony where they’d made her sit had been any thicker, she couldn’t have seen the bean pole or his cronies in action.
Exactly like Mister Dithers predicted.
Lincoln and his supporters celebrated his nomination for a second term. Even worse, according to Nate, Andrew Johnson had replaced Vice President Hannibal Hamlin on the ticket. She hated politics, but she hated the war even more.
For sure and certain, slavery was wrong, but killing each other—their own countrymen—over it proved much worse.
Nate hardly said five words on the train. His normal magpie cousin sat even quieter, both obviously concerned and in deep thought. But still, if the old man was right, she could find solace in that the horrible combat would end, be over by the next year.
Then what? Would she return to Texas?
Had Charley survived?
Could she ever make him understand?
Did she even want to try? Glenn Falls had grown on her.
Surely her barristers would successfully settle Harold’s estate on her behalf. Make the bankers give her the money he meant her to have. Nathaniel seemed nice enough, but what might he think about her once he knew the whole truth?
Being a half-breed might quench every spark of interest. She hated it.
Twenty-eight hours and countless train changes later found her in her own bed hunting sleep. So exhausted, yet her mind whirled. If only she could talk with someone she trusted. Someone wise.
The guardians of Harold’s property, she’d trust with her life, but the Humphries, as dear as she held them, were simple folk.
No doubt, she’d wait for her money. She wanted that, and he’d wanted her to have it. Had he sensed his end near? Could that have been why he felt like everything must be rushed? So what if she did get it? Then what? Pine over Charley th
e rest of her days?
Should she see him again before any decision….
A yawn overtook her. Turning onto her side, she cuddled her pillow.
As so many other recent night visions, she found herself in the great room looking out the huge wall of windows.
Suddenly Mister Dithers appeared, but instead of way off on the mountain where he usually beckoned her to come, he stood just outside. He pointed his bony finger at her and spoke to her soul.
“Repent. Return to your first love, and He will make all things new.”
She sat up in bed. “Repent? Of what?”
“Rebellion. Whoredom. Thievery and lying.” Though now wide awake, with her fingers plugging her ears, she couldn’t escape. The old man’s words echoed in her heart, through her soul, and even in the room, as if physically spoken.
How could that be?
An image of her mother flitted across her mind’s eye, but instead of her hateful last words, she spoke softly of how her arms longed to embrace her only child. She held them out like she wanted Lacey to come.
“Oh, Mama! I’m so sorry I ran off.”
She slipped out of bed and fell to her knees beside it. “Forgive me, Jesus. I was so wrong. All the way back to that kiss. I…I…only wanted him to…”
Tears streamed down her cheeks.
“But it was wrong. I never should have left home. I let Jack use me, then Harold. I see that so clearly now! Mister Dithers is right. I helped them both cheat and steal. Forgive me, Father.”
Like heated honey dribbled on top a stack of flapjacks, a warmth flowed over her. From the top of her head, the comfort ran down and blanketed her. “I’ve made so many mistakes, but I want to start over, give my life back to You.”
If she hadn’t known better, she’d have sworn strong arms held her. And not just on the outside. The heat poured deep into her heart until filled then continued through the whole of her being.
Ever hotter and more intense as it went, the heat surging through her became a cleansing fire. The imagined embrace ended, and she sniffed, wiping her face with her gown’s sleeve, but the warmth remained.