by Caryl McAdoo
“The old chowderhead lit a shuck two stops ago.” That Wallace, he hadn’t wiped the silly grin off his face yet, not in the three days that passed since arriving at the Buckmeyers’.
A twang of sorrow washed over Rose for Laura’s sake, and the baby’s, too, but who could know how the situation would all shake out?
For the next few miles, the coach climbed steadily through a dense forest, mostly pines; then mercifully, the driver sounded his warning and pulled off the main road in front of a log house with a beautiful view.
Hot coffee, half of a cold biscuit, and barely a bite of salt pork didn’t quite land a ringer. Best of all though, the station maintained a clean outhouse.
Before Rose was ready, the new teams stood hitched to the coach, and Levi helped her climb back in. She hated the hard seat and the constant swaying back and forth.
But God had shown her mercy. Her morning sickness abated and hadn’t reared its ugly head. She hoped the meager breakfast might stay settled.
When had the nausea stopped with Charley? During those days, she remembered being so hungry. That first year with Bold Eagle blurred in a swirl of fights and beatings; somehow, her baby being born.
What a blessing he afforded, too. His birth altered everything for the better. The beatings stopped, and her life’s focus changed to her caring for her son. He gave her a reason to live, and she quit trying to cook up ways to escape.
Bile rose in her throat and burned. She’d spoken to soon, except she hadn’t actually said a word. And that horrid sense of dread rode the rising acidic tidal wave, whispering to her soul that nothing would ever really change.
By law, Charles Nightengale, still her husband, had all the rights. Would he ever agree to let her go? Much less consent to Charley leaving with her?
And somehow, Bold Eagle would discover she carried his baby and come steal her back.
For too many sways of the coach, she swallowed back the bile threatening to explode and listened to the black lies that flooded her heart. She shook her head.
No, she refused to throw up; swallowed hard again, and gazed out the window at the beauty of God’s world. A peace settled over her queasy stomach, and her mind, quelling her fears.
Everything would surely be fine. Charles would give her a divorce without any trouble, and how could Bold Eagle ever find out? Besides, he didn’t want her; he’d traded her away.
She would soon be Mis’ess Levi Bartholomew Baylor. Bartholomew, hmmm. Maybe that would be a good name for the baby if it turned out to be a boy. She studied the love of her life.
Would he think so, or would he want the next baby, his blood, to bear his name?
Bart Baylor. She liked the sound of it. The girls would all swoon, and the men would step aside when he walked the streets. Her grin on the inside made its way to her lips.
Texas Rangers Charley Nightengale and his baby brother Bart Baylor, famous lawmen keeping the Republic safe just like their daddy and his partner.
She let the fantasy play out while the landscapes out the window flew by. Would she really want that for the boys—dangerous gallivanting all over Texas?
And what if the baby turned out to be a girl? She smiled bigger. If Charley took to her like he did the little Buckmeyer ladies, she would be the most pampered baby sister in the entire world.
Guess she’d better think of a girl’s name, just in case. She faced Levi. “What was your mother’s name?”
He grinned that grin she loved so much and shrugged. “Aunt Sue was the only mother I ever knew.”
“Well then, how does Bartholomew sound for a boy and Susannah if it’s a girl? We could call him Bart. He and Charley could be rangers like you and Wallace.”
“I like Susannah for a girl. Auntie would love that.”
Levi didn’t comment on Charley and the baby growing up to be rangers. He couldn’t imagine wishing the life on anyone. Sleepless nights, low pay, and someone all time either trying to plug you or lift your hair.
Uncle Henry hated fighting and tried to stay out of Texas’ War for Independence, but once he heard what Santa Anna did at the Alamo….
A heap of good men died defending the mission, many good friends of his. He couldn’t stay home after the slaughter. Then with San Jacinto won and Texas flying her own flag, he counseled Levi and Wallace against joining the rangers.
Chuckling, he shook his head. If he’d only known then….
Rose pressed her leg into his. “What’s funny?”
“Oh, thinking about Uncle Henry.” He sure liked her touching him. “Him trying to talk Wallace and me out of signing on with the rangers.”
“I see.” She bumped his leg again. “Now, what’s funny about that?”
“Nothing really. Only wondering if I would do it all over again. If I had come home after San Jacinto, things might have worked out way different.”
“I know what you’re talking about there. Believe you me, I’ve gone over my share of what-ifs in the last five years, but a wise man once told me not to go borrowing trouble.”
He grinned again. How could he wish his littlest partner away? But that’s exactly what he was thinking. Besides, even if he had come home, would he and Rose have found each other? In time?
She married Nightengale real young. Maybe fate designed all the things to turn out the way they had. The woman, though meant to be his, made a bad decision—as well as had he—that took her—and him—on different paths.
Still, in time, he had found and rescued her then fell in deep-down love with her. His heart belonged to Rosaleen. And she had fallen in love with him—head over heels she’d called it—and given her heart to him.
Levi wasn’t sure about all the fate business. What he did know? Only thing certain? Nothing and no one would keep her apart from him now. Things would work out. Whatever he had to do, however much money he had to spend, he would see to it that he would spend the rest of his life with her because it wouldn’t be worth living without her.
“Hey, partner. That guy in San Antonio, you remember? The snake oil salesman. Wasn’t his name Bart?” Wallace threw him a nod.
“Believe it was.”
“Real bad man that one. Anyone who knew him called him Black Bart.”
Rose slipped her hand to her belly, like she wanted to protect the baby. “Wallace Rusk, just because some evil man was named Bart does not mean that we can’t name this baby after Levi. Bartholomew is a strong Biblical name.”
“Is it? Well, true enough, you two can pick any name you want. Now for my money though, Uncle Wallace would be right proud to loan that child his name. Think about it. Little Wallace Rusk Baylor has a right nice ring to it.”
Rose wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think so; besides, you’ve already got Lacey named after you.”
“Oh, really? I hadn’t put that together.” Rebecca tapped Wallace’s boot with her toe. “There you go.” She smiled. “One more reason that you need to marry that dear girl. She named her baby after you.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Wallace shrugged and stretched out his legs, crossing his feet at the ankles. “Your brother there might shoot me dead if I was to go and break your heart like that.”
Rebecca snickered and pushed his top boot off the other. “You best watch it, Wallace. Didn’t you know the Good Book says that pride goes before a fall?”
Mile after swaying, dusty mile, the playful banter flew around the coach. Maybe his partner was exactly what his Bitty Beck needed. He’d never heard her laugh so much, and for sure Wallace seemed to be genuinely intrigued with her, but he knew the man so well.
He thought on it for a while and came to the conclusion that he would advise against it if asked. But then, what did he know? Probably no one he knew would encourage him to marry Rose.
But what did that matter? Not a whit.
More likely, most would do everything they could to talk him out of it, but he didn’t care what anyone thought. Marry her, he would. That’s exactly what he was going to do.
For sure, he hated that she carried Bold Eagle’s baby, but not any more than he hated Charley being Nightengale’s son.
The innocent children. They shouldered no fault and certainly neither of their circumstances came from Rose’s choices either. No more than he was to blame for being an orphan, or Aunt Sue’s for having to raise him and Bitty Beck alone.
The warning bugle sounded.
Chapter
Thirty-Two
Little Rock. The Clarksville Belle had made it to the capital of Arkansas. Levi wasn’t sure if he wanted statehood. He liked Texas being a Republic, but for sure, a wagon load of good reasons to join the union tipped the scales for plenty of Texians.
Worthless script, recurring Santa Anna raids, and mounting debt topped the list of statehood advocates, but no matter how he tried, he couldn’t wrap giving up sovereignty around financial security.
The coach slid to a stop. A dust cloud swirled, enveloped the coach, then settled. The door flew open. “Here’s the very one I been hunting, folks.” The driver nodded over his shoulder at the log structure behind him. Hanging above the establishment’s doors, a sign read ‘Hinderiter Grog Shop’. The driver bowed his head. “It’s been my pleasure; enjoy Little Rock.”
While Charley and the ladies checked on connections and accommodations, Levi and Wallace helped the man unload their stuff from the boot. A right nice stack of carpet bags and hat boxes developed. Good thing he and Wallace didn’t use the fourteen pounds of luggage allotted each passenger, the girls for sure made up the difference.
“The first stage to Memphis doesn’t leave until tomorrow evening.” Rose stood next to the pile of stuff holding Charley. How could she still be so beautiful after twenty-seven hours on the road?
Levi looked from her to Rebecca. “The Grog Shop have any rooms available?”
“No, sir.” She pointed to the east. “The proprietor suggested a hotel down that way. Said it’d be right on the corner of this street and the river.”
Like overburdened pack animals, he and Wallace lugged the bulky bags and boxes the two blocks to the waterfront. On the other side of the river, three steamboats rode deep in the river’s murky water. Stevedores, mixed in with a long line of slaves carried bales and steamer trunks or rolled drums into a long warehouse. Reminded Levi of New Orleans. He turned around. The others had already disappeared inside through the hotel’s double front doors.
Grand chandeliers lit the lobby casting a plenty nice ambiance, but the rooms seemed a bit overpriced. After only napping in the coach, a bed would be appreciated. Maybe a good thing the stage to Memphis didn’t leave until tomorrow….
He turned from the counter and handed the room keys to Wallace. “See to things, would you, partner?”
“Of course, what are you doing?”
He smiled. “Maybe nothing. We’ll see.”
He returned shortly and gathered everyone into the dining room.
Seated to his right, Rose touched his forearm. “What are you grinning about?”
He hated that he had his duster on and didn’t get the pleasure of actually feeling her fingers on his skin, but that would have to wait. Oh, man, he wanted all this to be over.
So why’d he’d just go and add two days to the journey? Before he could answer, the waiter appeared and took everyone’s order. Once the man retreated, Levi faced her.
“I booked passage on the Eagle. We sail in the morning.”
Wallace leaned back and threw him a puzzled look. “How’s that? Seems to me that river runs south, and we need to head north.”
“True, but at the Mississippi, the Eagle will turn north and steam into St. Louis Tuesday next, two days later than if we take the stage to Memphis.”
“Oh, thank you, brother! Mother was right about stagecoaches. They’re a horrible means of travel racing down the roads at breakneck speed. And that awful, never-ending sway; ugh. Bless you! A river boat!” She turned to her girlfriend. “Isn’t it grand?” Then wheeled her sparkling eyes back to him. “Does it have a calliope?”
Man, he hadn’t seen his Bitty Beck this excited in forever. “Don’t know, she’s a shallow draft, and maybe a third smaller than that one we took from New Orleans to Memphis. What? A lifetime ago?”
His sister smiled. “Well, to be exact, a little over half my life.”
“What’s a calliope?” Rose didn’t seem nearly as thrilled.
Charley, sitting on Levi’s other side, bounced his butter knife against the crystal glass. “Yes, sir, what is it?”
He reached out and took the boy’s hand stopping the tinkling before the goblet broke. “A fancy organ powered by steam like the boat.”
“What’s an or-gan?”
“It makes music. A little like the piano at Aunt Sue’s, remember that?”
“Yes, sir.” The boy looked at Bitty Beck and grinned. “Miss Rebeccar played it good.”
“Why, thank you, little man.”
The waiter brought the first course, and everyone fell silent as the silver dome-covered dishes continued. A part of him hated the coin this trip was costing, but he’d empty his bank accounts and dig up all the hidden treasure he and Uncle Henry had planted over the years if that’s what it took to make Rose his. Truth be known, he’d sell every acre of land he owned and the crops on them and all the cattle, too, if that’s what it took. Life without her wouldn’t be a life.
“Cap’n Bay-lor.” Charley leaned in close, his voice quiet but definitely excited. “Over there.” He threw his head to the side like Wallace often did.
Levi followed the boy’s nod. A bearded man dressed in buckskins and sporting a coonskin cap wore a big Arkansas toothpick. Hard to miss the knife encased in a fringed leather scabbard. He looked back to Charley. “I don’t know him, do you?”
“Yes, him trade with the–” He used the Comanche word for people, one of the few Levi knew. “Him bad whiskey man.” He held his hand out toward his mother. “Give me the Baby. Me shoot him.”
If the man sold fire water to Indians, Levi was tempted to shoot him himself, but he wasn’t in Texas, and no matter what, you couldn’t kill a guy on the word of a four-year-old. “Sorry, partner. We can’t, he’s not on a flyer.”
The corners of Charley’s lips turned down. “When me and Bart are rangers, we’ll plug him then.”
A laugh caught in Levi’s throat. No way he could love this little fellow any more. Everything so black and white with him; kill bad guys on sight. If only things were so easy. The boy had a lot to learn to overcome his early teachings from the savages. “Can’t just kill a man cause you think he’s bad, or even know it, Little Partner. The law has to say he’s guilty and can’t live in polite society.”
That night Charley insisted on sleeping with his mother so that he could protect her from the bad whiskey man. Levi wished he had that option, but settled for the room across the hall, the one that faced the street.
Wallace flipped a coin. “Call it.”
Levi grabbed it midair and slapped it onto the back of his hand. “Heads.” He revealed the copper half cent. “Heads it is.” He shrugged. “Don’t matter to me. Hear tell I ain’t slept since Plum Creek anyhow.”
“Go ahead, you won. I’ll take the first watch.”
He toed off his boots, draped his duster, shirt and pants over the back of a chair then flopped into bed.
“Wake up.” A hand shook him.
He forced his eyes open. Wallace stood next to the bed. “You were having a bad one.”
“Was I?”
“Yeah, seemed to me you was killing Laura’s Comanche again.”
Throwing his feet over the bed’s side, he rubbed his face. “He needed killing.”
“Yes, he did. It was him or Rose. Proud you got him.”
His neck cracked to one side then the other. So was he. Why did all the men he’d killed have to stalk his dreams? “I’m up now. Anything afoot?”
“Naw, a couple of drunks, mangy-looking dog and one old howling
she-cat beggin’ to be a mama.”
Maybe when he and Rose were married, the nightmares would stop. But whatever. He could live with them. Hopefully, she could, too. He dressed quickly and took the chair next to the window.
Little Rock came to life like every town he’d known, shopkeepers and the cooks leading the charge into the new day. If he could find a sucker to bet with, he’d wager Uncle had beat them all up. Once he and Aunt Sue had tied the knot, he’d given up his all night hunting and fishing and taken to farming like manure pulsed through his veins.
Man, he sure hoped their baby was a boy; Auntie was getting a bit long of tooth to keep popping out young-uns. How quick could Rose have another one?
Images of Charley on his filly raced though the meadows of his mind a passel of kids hanging on behind. Before he could get a good look at his babies, a soft tap sounded on his door. He rose and crossed the room.
Rose stood in the hall, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“What?” He stepped into the hall.
Her lips quivered. “I love you.”
He wrapped her in his arms. “I love you, too, What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”
She leaned her wet cheek against his chest. “I don’t have any reason now.”
For a few wonderful beats of his heart, he held her close, then leaned his head back. “Want some coffee?”
She wiped away the tears and nodded her head. “I dreamed the Comanche killed you that first night and stole me and Laura back.”
He slipped his hand into hers and headed downstairs. What could that mean? Him and her having the same nightmare? Was his past going to haunt him for ever?
Coffee turned into breakfast, then into a blur of hauling hat boxes and carpetbags down the stairs and to the wharf, but soon enough, he had everyone on board the Eagle heading downriver. No steam organ, but soft beds and good food made it nice enough; no sway and not one speck of dust made it right pleasurable.