The Badger's Revenge

by Larry D. Sweazy

  After Big Shirt passed, and Josiah breathed a sigh of relief, and was about to ease back into the crowd, then B. D. Donley brought the black stallion to a quick stop. He looked over his shoulder. “Hey, Wolfe, I have something that belongs to you.” He reached down to a scabbard and pulled a familiar Winchester ’73 out of it. “This is yours, if I ain’t mistaken.”

  Josiah nodded. “It is.” He started for Donley, but stopped once he realized that Lyle was still attached to his leg. “You go stand with Mr. Scrap while I go get my rifle.”

  “Do I have to?” Lyle asked.

  “Yes.” The farther away from Big Shirt he kept his son, the better it was for them all.

  Lyle let go of Josiah’s leg. “All right.”

  “What do you say?”

  Lyle looked up at Josiah, confusion on his little face until he realized what his father wanted from him. “Yes, sir.”

  “That’s more like it.”

  There was smoke rising from the chimney of his house, and for a moment, Josiah was confused and concerned—until he saw Ofelia walk out on the porch as they approached.

  It only took Lyle, who was sitting in front of Josiah in the saddle, a second to realize that it was Ofelia he saw, too.

  “’Felia, ’Felia, hola, hola!” Lyle yelled, waving madly.

  Josiah was afraid the boy was going to jump off of Clipper’s back right then and there. He pulled him closer, tighter.

  Lyle looked up at Josiah, scrunching his forehead. “Go, Papa, go faster.”

  Ofelia waved back, a wide smile growing on her face as she recognized Josiah on his own horse, Lyle cupped in the saddle.

  “You can wait,” Josiah said.

  “Don’t want to. Missed ’Felia.”

  “I’m sure you did.”

  Lyle squirmed in the saddle, and Josiah finally gave in, urging Clipper to move along a little faster. Scrap wasn’t that far behind them, and Josiah didn’t need to turn around to know what kind of look was on Scrap’s disapproving face.

  There was no question that Scrap’s views were right, that Josiah needed to live without Ofelia—but to be honest, having his trusted rifle back in his possession and seeing Ofelia on his porch were moments akin to stumbling on a vein of gold right in the middle of Austin. It was about as much happiness as he could take.

  He wasn’t sure how he was going to live without Ofelia, and he hoped, for the moment, he wouldn’t have to. He hoped they could work something out that suited them both—a solution that would never leave Lyle in the hands of strangers again.

  Josiah brought Clipper to a stop, and before he could get a grip on Lyle, the boy had already slipped out of the saddle and jumped into Ofelia’s waiting arms.

  “Allí está mi niño,” Ofelia said. “There’s my boy.”

  Lyle buried his face in Ofelia’s neck, telling her over and over again how much he had missed her. “Allí está mi Ofelia,” he answered.

  Tears welled up in Ofelia’s deep brown eyes. She was short, squat, about as tall as she was big around, and was dressed simply, as always, in a brightly colored cotton dress she’d sewed together herself. This one was yellow, and looked even brighter in contrast to her smooth dark brown skin in the beaming sunshine.

  “It is good to see you,” Ofelia said to Josiah, still clutching Lyle tightly. “I feared I would never see you again.”

  “It is good to see you, too, Ofelia. I’m glad to be home,” Josiah answered, sliding off Clipper. “And I’m glad you’re home, too.” He looked at her questioningly, waiting for an answer.

  Ofelia nodded her head. “Sí, I am glad to be home, señor.”

  “Bueno! Bueno!” Lyle clapped his hands and giggled loud enough to overcome Scrap Elliot’s grunt of disapproval at the whole scene.

  CHAPTER 28

  Josiah stood at the end of the lane staring at the house. It glowed in the darkness like a giant honeycomb bathed in bright sunlight.

  Every lamp in the large mansion was filled and lit on the highest turn. Torches stood burning under the portico, lighting the entire front of the house. Shadows made from darting insects decorated the front of the house, as the bugs sought out heat on the cool November night.

  For Josiah it was hard not to feel a tandem kinship with the insects. He understood the desire of a mere moth drawn to the torches and light in every window, curious, in need of warmth, sustenance, and the hope of a life beyond the darkness. The hesitant human being that he really was ached to turn and go home.

  All of the light did little to excite him. The dinner at the Fikes estate was obviously a bigger affair than he had anticipated or thought about, but he should not have been surprised.

  The smell of burning hardwood drifted up out of the chimneys and mixed with the unmistakable smell of beef roasting on a spit. Music from a fine piano eased out of the house, a soft ballad sung by a sweet female voice floating carelessly on an unseen breeze. Josiah didn’t have to wonder who was singing. He knew it was Pearl, entertaining a house full of guests, waiting for his arrival.

  Leaving was on his mind more than staying. But the light held him in sway, and he knew he was drawn to Pearl in a way he did not understand, even though he was smart enough to know that she was a flame that could leave him wounded or worse.

  An impressive collection of buggies, coaches, and wagons sat in front of the house, some manned by drivers sitting, waiting, lazily holding their spots, enjoying a smoke or a nip of whiskey to stave off the boredom and coolness of the night.

  Even the horses seemed to be entranced by the easy mood that hung in the air. They stood, mostly with their heads down, feasting on the gift of hay provided by the Fikes estate, the best from anywhere around.

  Wispy clouds barely obscured the moon as it rose up behind the house, casting even more shadows on the ground in front of Josiah. The entire world suddenly looked unfamiliar to him. His stomach bound itself up in knots, and he knew he was on the verge of walking into a house where he knew nothing of the rules or ways.

  Manners were a medium concern, needed less on a twenty-acre farm in East Texas than in a mansion blocks away from the Capitol building.

  Now he was frozen in fear for his lack of them, among other things.

  He had nearly been stricken with the same statue-like fright when he was getting ready to leave Lyle with Ofelia for the dinner, but Ofelia would not hear of him not going once he told her of the event.

  She’d promised him that she was not leaving the house or Austin again anytime soon. Beyond that, nothing had been settled between them. Time had slowed, and they both seemed glad to have a sense of normalcy return to their lives.

  Standing now at the end of the lane, life for Josiah was anything but normal. He was fully prepared to turn and leave, forgo the dinner and Pearl’s invitation all at once, regardless of the implications, when he heard another buggy drawing up behind him on the lane.

  He turned to see Juan Carlos driving toward him in a fancy buggy. He was alone. It was not a sight Josiah was accustomed to seeing, Juan Carlos out and about in plain sight for anyone to see, heading toward a big event.

  “Whoa, there,” Juan Carlos said, bringing the horse and buggy to a stop. “I thought that was you, Señor Wolfe. Are your feet stuck in the mud?”

  “Just thinking,” Josiah said.

  “You’ll be fine in there. Pearl will see to it, I promise.”

  Josiah eyed Juan Carlos carefully. “What are you doing here?”

  “Earning my keep.”

  Josiah chuckled. “You’re taking orders from the Widow Fikes? I never thought I’d see the day.”

  A wise smile crossed Juan Carlos’s face. “Pedro and I are old friends. I help out when the need arises, when there is something to accomplish.”

  “Here? What would that be?”

  “If I were known as the captain’s brother I would be well suited to sit at the table and rub elbows with the likes of you. Next to my beautiful niece, where I should be. As I’m not known as blood kin
to anyone in that house, and have no desire to be, I’m well suited to serve and remain unseen even though I breathe the same air in the same room. I can listen.”

  Josiah nodded. “For what?”

  “Information that may help us on our journey,” Juan Carlos said.

  Josiah took a deep breath. “I don’t think now is a good time for me to leave. Feders told me to wait until I spoke to him before doing anything.”

  “That problem will resolve itself soon.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Trust me, Señor Wolfe.”

  “Lyle needs me,” Josiah said, sternly.

  “Lyle needs a father who is alive. We will leave before daybreak. Enjoy the party, Señor Wolfe.” Juan Carlos flipped the reins in his leathery hand, and the horse, to which Josiah had paid little attention, responded and the buggy tore off toward the house.

  If the ground had been hard and dusty, Josiah would have been covered from head to toe in dirt.

  Josiah did not have to knock at the door. Pedro opened it widely as Josiah walked stiffly under the portico.

  The manservant was decked out head to toe in the finest black suit Josiah had ever seen, more perfect than the last time or any other time they had met. Pedro stood squarely in the middle of the doorway, an angry look crossing his face as he took in the sight of Josiah.

  “You are late, Ranger Wolfe,” Pedro said.

  “I have a son. He needed to be tended to before I left,” Josiah said.

  He had not dressed in the suit that was given to him the day before with instructions to attend the tailor for a fitting. Instead, he wore his own clothes, his Sunday best that he saved for weddings and funerals.

  Regular churchgoing was not something Josiah took into consideration, so it had been a while since the suit had seen the light of day. As it was, he was dressed in a black broadcloth frock coat and a vest to match, with his father’s gold watch tucked neatly in the pocket. His boots were wiped fresh of muck, and his black pants were a little tight. The last time he’d donned the suit was the day he’d laid Lily to rest in the family plot back on the farm in Seerville.

  He wore his everyday hat, the brown felt Stetson, since it was the only hat he owned and he thought little of the prospect of buying a new one just for a fancy dinner invitation at the estate. Of course, he could have worn the hat that was sent to him . . . but he wanted nothing to do with wearing clothes that did not belong to him.

  Comfort was a just cause as far as he was concerned, but he also felt he needed Pearl . . . and Pedro . . . to realize that he was what he was: a simple man with a simple life. A fine suit of clothes could not change who he was underneath, no matter how much the clothes cost or how well they fit.

  “But you chose not to wear the fine suit?” Pedro said.

  “The package is on my horse. I hope you can return it.”

  “If I must,” Pedro snipped.

  “You must,” Josiah said.

  “As you wish, Ranger Wolfe,” Pedro said, stepping back and allowing Josiah entry into the house.

  Josiah sucked in a large gulp of air and walked into the house, right past the snarling Pedro, without saying another word.

  CHAPTER 29

  As soon as she saw Josiah walk through the door, Pearl stopped singing. The light around her was bright, as the Fikes home had, at just about the same time as the governor’s mansion, been equipped with gas lighting.

  Standing just inside the door, Josiah was tempted to shield his eyes, the lighting was so intense—but he resisted. He didn’t want to imply a salute, or a matter of weakness or discomfort of any kind.

  A crystal chandelier, with icy-looking teardrops suspended from brass hoops, hung over the shiny black piano just inside the parlor. Pearl stood beside the piano, wearing a long yellow dress with a high collar. The dress almost matched the color of her hair, which was piled on top of her head, bound with lace and ribbons. She looked like a spring flower in a field of black coats and fancy velvet and satin dresses that were not nearly as beautiful and glowing as she was.

  Every man and woman in the room turned toward Josiah to see what had distracted Pearl, what had stopped the angelic voice from filling up the house. They seemed disappointed at the sight of him, a simple, unknown man in a simple suit of clothes, not distinguished in the least.

  Josiah couldn’t have felt more self-aware at that very moment, especially when he recognized many of the luminaries of Austin’s high society, as well as Governor Richard Coke, with his wife, Mary, close at hand, standing in the center of the parlor.

  Coke was a tall man, bald on top with dark hair on both sides of his head, offset by a neatly trimmed six-inch beard. He had been a district court judge ten years prior, but was ultimately removed because the military governor at the time thought Coke was “an impediment to Reconstruction.” It was an apt judgment, since Coke’s recent election as governor was widely seen as the end of Reconstruction in Texas. He was not without his foes, especially of late as he struggled to balance the budget—which included cutting the Frontier Battalion down in size.

  Coke eyed Josiah carefully, then turned his attention away, drawn by a question from an unknown man to his right.

  Standing around and beyond the governor was an assemblage of men Josiah did not know, but who he assumed were members of Coke’s political party, administration, and inner circle. There were at least twenty people stuffed into the parlor, and a few others lingered outside in the grand foyer.

  Josiah did recognize Rory Farnsworth, the local sheriff, with whom Josiah had had some dealings in the past. And to his surprise, Major John B. Jones was also in attendance, standing in the center of three lovely young women in the corner, just to the left of the piano. A large, wavy fern almost obscured the major. Once Jones looked up and saw that the distraction was only a meager sergeant, he quickly turned his attention back to the fawning and giggling women.

  Jones had taken a liking to Pearl earlier in the spring, at the time of her father’s death, or so Josiah thought, but she obviously was not the center of the major’s attention at the moment. He had a reputation as a man with a different woman of favor in every town he entered, leaving behind a broken heart or a waiting woman in his wake. At forty, Jones was still a bachelor, with a reputation bordering on being a cad. The competition for Pearl’s affection looked to have been pared, but for some reason, Josiah wasn’t lightened by the prospect, though he would have been disappointed to see Pearl fall under the spell of Jones’s apparent charms.

  A Negro sat at the piano, waiting for Pearl to resume singing. He was dressed identically to Pedro—formal, in a black suit, starched white high-collared shirt, with a black string tie—only the Negro wore white gloves, as if his brown hands were not allowed to touch the white keys of the piano.

  Josiah had never seen the Negro before and didn’t know his name, but he was sure the Fikes house employed more people than he could count or know of.

  Pearl motioned for the Negro man to start playing again, then whispered something in his ear. The Negro looked to Josiah, smiled brightly, and nodded.

  A soft tinkling immediately filled the room, happy music, not a ballad, as Pearl made her way through the crowd toward Josiah.

  Everyone parted, allowing her eager exit from the piano, very much in the manner that the crowd had parted earlier in the day for Blanche Dumont—who was missing from the elite gathering, but who surely knew some of the members in attendance intimately.

  Josiah stood stiffly, unsure of what to do other than wait for Pearl. He did not want to greet Pearl in front of everyone. He wasn’t sure he knew how. A handshake, a kiss on the cheek, or a bow?

  To make matters worse, not only had Pearl’s attention and action been drawn to him, but so had the Widow Fikes’s.

  She was sitting on an Empire sofa framed in an exotic wood, probably mahogany. The back crest was undulating in style, and the upholstery was a soft brown color, beige, with thin beaded pleats. The sofa sat under a po
rtrait of a very much younger Mrs. Fikes, who was never a beauty like her daughter, but had obviously come readily equipped with a regal air; she looked like a princess of a foreign land waiting on a servant to feed her.

  The portrait was surrounded by thick red draperies that hung all the way from the twelve-foot ceiling to the floor. The widow was not as tall and thin as Pearl, but rotund, or at least she appeared to be since she still dressed in widow’s weeds—a thick, ruffled black dress, a lacy hat with the veil pulled back, and tightly bound boots—that made her look very big, like a big old laying hen with her feathers all puffed up in defense. She bore no other color but black from head to toe, a continued show of mourning.

  The widow curled her lip in distaste as she met Josiah’s gaze, recognizing him. He did the same. He looked away, then, back to Pearl, who was nearly in front of him.

  “I thought you weren’t coming,” Pearl said.

  Josiah’s throat was parched, like it had closed up in fear. “I had to get Lyle settled. Ofelia returned or I would not have been able to come.” He stood still, hands plastered to his side. It seemed the most appropriate hello he could conjure.

  “You could have brought him,” Pearl said. “We got along just fine.”

  Pearl stared at Josiah, her deep blue eyes penetrating his. He was tempted to turn and leave, but he had made it this far, it was too late to back out now. Besides, staring back at Pearl, Josiah became less aware of the rest of the room and the eyes still targeted on them. It was like they were the only two people in the world. A surge of energy compelled him to reach for her, at least touch her hand, but again he resisted, unsure if it was the right and proper thing to do, if a public touch was socially acceptable.

  “Lyle is not ready for this,” Josiah said. He wanted to add that he wasn’t either . . . but let the words die before they left his mouth.

  “I suppose you are right. I am glad to hear of Ofelia’s return. Juan Carlos has told me of her importance to you.”