by Texas Rain
Tobin pulled off his muddy boots and asked, “What are we going to call him?”
Sage patted the child’s damp hair. “Duck,” she said.
The brother’s nodded. They’d had no experience with names, and Duck sounded as good as any.
It took Travis an hour to get Duck to pull away enough to drink Martha’s special warm milk with molasses blended in. Once the boy swallowed his first gulp, Travis had a battle on his hands to keep him from downing all of it at once. Half the cup spilled on him, mixing with the mud and rain already soaking his clothes.
Travis fought down an oath as the others laughed.
When the boy finally fell asleep, Travis lowered him to a thick bear rug on the floor and left him in Sage and Martha’s care while he went to the back to clean up. When he returned, the boy was still asleep, but much cleaner and dressed in an old shirt of Sage’s long enough to have been a dress on the kid.
Travis covered him and moved to the desk. He’d write the Rangers and ask if anyone knew of a child his age being kidnapped. Now that Duck was clean, Travis could tell he had sandy blond hair. He might have parents looking for him somewhere, but by his thin body and inability to speak, Travis feared he’d been captured very young, and if that was true, the chances were his parents were dead. They wouldn’t have let him wander far at such a young age, or permitted him to leave them without a fight.
When Travis finished one letter, he started another to his fairy woman. He had no way of knowing if she ever got the first letter he mailed, but for some strange reason he wanted to write and tell her about Duck. Maybe he thought the woman would understand how the little one felt being all alone, or maybe he wanted to write because he had something to talk about besides his pain and her crime.
An hour later he moved to the chair by the fire and tucked Duck in, then relaxed. Everyone else in the house waited out the storm. He guessed Teagen was in the main room at his work desk. Tobin would be watching the storm from the porch. If it let up, he’d be heading toward the barn to calm the animals. Sage and Martha talked softly as they worked in the kitchen.
Travis felt a tiny hand touch his, then the child was back in his arms. Duck cuddled against his side and went back to sleep without even looking up to see if he were welcome.
Travis frowned. Duck must be one brave little boy, because Travis usually frightened children. Looking over as Martha entered, Travis pointed toward the child with his head and frowned, silently asking what to do.
Martha winked, but didn’t offer to help. “That’s just the way kids are—they climb on your heart and stay there. Nothing you can do about it.” She collected the pile of towels and left without another word.
Travis thought about what the old housekeeper said long after she’d gone. She was right. Duck had climbed on his heart the minute Travis had seen him chained at the camp. He’d fought that day, almost lost his life, but even through the pain he’d worried about the child and hoped later that the Germans had found him still alive. With a shock he realized, if he had to, he’d walk that close to death again for this kid.
Travis cupped the boy’s head with his hand. “It’s all right, Duck,” he whispered. “You’re safe.”
The boy relaxed in sleep, and Travis knew he’d feel the weight of the kid’s heart against his for the rest of his life. What happened the day of the raid didn’t matter; it was in the past. What counted was that they lived through it. They might be a little the worse for wear, but they were alive.
“You know, Duck,” Travis whispered, “we’re both going to be just fine.”
Hours later, when the house was asleep, Travis returned to his desk and added a sentence to the letter he’d written about Duck.
In this midnight hour I think of you and how you vanished into the night. I found myself wondering what it would be like to sleep with your heart against mine. I know we are strangers, but you felt so right in my arms. I can’t help but wonder if any woman will ever feel that way again. You remain in my thoughts, Travis
He sealed the letter before he could change his mind and scratch out the words he’d written. It felt good to be honest with her even if he’d told her something in the letter that he’d probably never had the nerve to say aloud.
CHAPTER 15
RAINEY FELT HER BLOOD CHILL AS SHE LEANED closer to the window so that she heard every word. The air held a frost tonight, and fog settled into the alley so thick she couldn’t make out the women below, but she knew their voices. Snort and Whiny, the barmaids she’d listened to every night for over a month.
“We wouldn’t have to kill him, would we?” the one Rainey called Whiny whimpered. “I don’t know if I could do that. I ain’t got a murdering bone in my body.”
“It’s our only way out of this place, don’t you see, baby?” Snort answered, her tone soft as if she were talking to a child. “Otherwise, we’ll be here until some customer, who thinks he didn’t get his money’s worth, kills us or Haskell kicks us out.”
“He wouldn’t do that,” Whiny cried, her voice sounding barely old enough to be that of a woman.
“I seen him do it to a woman the day he hired me,” the older woman answered. “I was in the back changing clothes. Haskell waited until she came in to work. He offered to buy her one on the house and she said, ‘Just tell me the bad news.’ I could hear him pouring her a drink anyway.”
“Did you look out?” Whiny interrupted. “Was she old or scarred?”
“Both,” Snort admitted. “She was eight, maybe ten, years older than me. Well on her way to being too wrinkled to attract anything but a blind drunk.”
Snort made a sound half between a laugh and a cough. “Haskell shoved a drink toward her and told her it would be her last at his place. She cried and complained for a few minutes, but she knew him well enough not to stand within swinging distance. He yelled at her and she left without another word. I heard later she got run over by a stage pulling into town. The driver claimed she stepped right in front of his team.”
Whiny whispered, “You think we’re close to being offered our last drink?”
“I think I am. You, honey, are still new at the game, but I don’t want to think about what’ll happen to you when I’m gone. You need someone to look out for you.”
“Then we do it,” Whiny whispered. “We have to. I might as well take my chances of hanging for murder as die by horses stomping me into the ground. I can’t spend my whole life waiting for my man to break out of jail.”
“That’s the spirit,” Snort said. “Look on the bright side. Hanging is better than trampling.”
“When do you think we should do it?”
“I heard Haskell tell that Old Lady Vivian across the alley that he expects to have a sum of money coming in soon. He asked her if she’d consider selling her slave.” Snort snorted. “You know that Mrs. Vivian don’t give up anything. I heard she even goes through the rooms the minute one of her ladies leaves. If they accidentally forget something, they never see it again.”
Whiny had no interest in anyone but herself. “So we club Haskell when he’s flush.”
“That’s right, baby, but we don’t leave him in any shape to run catch us. We have to . . .”
Someone hollered for them and Rainey didn’t catch the last words Snort whispered. Leaning back in her bed, Rainey lay perfectly still, pacing her way back through the barmaids’ conversation.
They were going to kill someone, or at least hurt him. A man named Haskell? It sounded like their plan was to rob Haskell when he came into cash. Robbery or murder. Either way, Rainey wasn’t sure she wanted to warn him if he was as evil as they talked about him being. He seemed like one of those people no one would miss. But if they were going to kill an innocent person, she had to do something—but what? If she went to the sheriff, it would be her word against the two barmaids. The sheriff might even laugh at her for reporting a conversation she’d heard. She couldn’t even tell him what the two women looked like.
She could go
down and tell the women, or even Haskell, that she’d heard the robbery plans. Maybe that would stop them. Or maybe the barmaids would simply continue their planning inside so they wouldn’t have her listening.
It crossed her mind that the French girl might have overheard the plotting of a crime in the alley just as she had. Maybe she’d gone down to stop it and ended up with her blood painting a streak along the buildings.
If the girls were already thinking of killing one person, a short busybody with big ears might not seem like much to add to the crime. And if they did the killing, then discovered she’d overheard them talking, they’d have to kill her. Even to Rainey, the prospective victim, it seemed only logical.
Rainey decided she had to tell someone. But who? Margaret Ann, the self-appointed leader of the boarders, was packing to leave. Mrs. Vivian wouldn’t talk about anything that might hurt the reputation of the house. The German mother and daughter would never understand her. Besides, they were busy packing and getting ready to leave, too. The three boring old maid sisters were already frightened of their shadows. They’d probably start taking shotguns to the privy if they knew. That left Dottie Davis, who loved a story. If Rainey told her, the widow would probably repeat the barmaids’ conversation a dozen times within an hour, and by the time she finished she’d have them planning to murder all of Austin. Or the widow might just listen to Rainey and help her, if she were awake. From what Rainey could tell, Dottie Davis ate breakfast every morning, then returned to her room to sleep most of the day away.
Rainey shivered, but didn’t close the window. She had to find someone she could trust not to overreact, but who would act if necessary. Travis McMurray. He’d know what to do. He knew the law.
After lighting her only candle, Rainey pulled out a sheet of the cheap paper she’d bought and began to tell Travis every detail she’d overheard. If he got the letter, and if he wrote her back, she’d follow his instructions. She just prayed his answer would come before the barmaids took action.
When she finished the letter, she blew out the candle and curled into bed. The night was too cold to leave the window open, but she didn’t want to take the chance of missing something said in the alley.
As the hours passed, all she heard were a few drunken conversations about fate and two cowhands complaining that they lost all their money to a gambler with a gold tooth.
Rainey comforted herself with the fact that the women had talked about killing “him,” so they were not planning to do in anyone in the boardinghouse. She fell asleep thinking of Travis and wishing she could dance with him again.
In her dream he held her against him and twirled around a dance floor made of polished oak. His hand felt warm against the small of her back, and he didn’t step on her toes once.
Rainey had danced very little in her life, except when her father had made her take lessons with the rest of the girls in her class at school. It had been one of the few times she’d interacted with the rich young ladies. She’d had so much fun she’d almost believed she belonged.
Once she’d been old enough to go to the school parties, none of the young men asked her for a dance. They probably would have been laughed at if they’d asked the school-master’s homely daughter. She’d watched from the shadows, practicing the steps in her mind so she’d be ready.
Now she danced only in her dreams.
While she slept, her fingers searched for Travis’s letter beneath her pillow. Somehow, holding the letter made her feel less alone.
A drunk stumbling down the alley woke her late in the night. Hungry, she slipped out of her bedroom and tiptoed down the back stairs. She knew Mrs. Vivian didn’t want the boarders in the back of the house, but surely she wouldn’t mind if Rainey had a small glass of milk and a slice of bread. After all, she’d brought pies several times over the weeks.
Even before she reached the last step, Rainey noticed a warm glow of light coming from the kitchen. She stepped as soundlessly as she could onto the floor, but found Widow Davis and the slave called Mamie staring at her. They were sitting at a small table in the corner, both leaning into their mugs of coffee. A deck of cards cluttered the space between them.
“Evening,” the widow whispered. “We didn’t expect company, but you’re welcome to a cup of coffee.”
Dottie Davis straightened, her eyes showing a bit of challenge in them. Everyone knew the law. Folks were not allowed to socialize with slaves. Several people had already been kicked out of Austin for preaching freedom to slaves or for teaching them to read.
Rainey smiled and nodded slightly, hoping Dottie understood that she found nothing wrong with the scene she’d walked in on.
Mamie stood, nervous. “The little miss only drinks tea. I’ll get you some, child.”
Rainey guessed the slave couldn’t be much older than she, but maybe she thought she’d lived longer. “I’d love tea,” she whispered. “And a bit of bread.” Rainey pulled up a stool, making it plain she had no intention of taking Mamie’s chair.
Smiling, Mamie silently accepted the kindness. “With honey spread on it?”
“Yes, please. But I can get it myself.”
Mamie shooed her to the table. “I’ll get it. You sit.”
“Supper didn’t agree with you?” Widow Davis asked as she gathered the cards from the table.
Rainey didn’t want to complain. The meals for the most part were plain, but good. She couldn’t bring herself to say something in front of the cook. “I guess I wasn’t hungry.”
Mamie set a thick slice of bread and tea before her. “Until now.”
Rainey smiled her thank-you. “Until now.”
The widow laughed. “Mamie and I were just talking about where Mrs. Vivian found that meat tonight. She claimed it was cow, but I swear it was deer.”
Mamie nodded. “When she brought it in, I thought I was looking at leather, not dinner.”
Rainey took a bit of the bread. “This is wonderful bread.”
“I was teaching Mamie to play poker, but she doesn’t take to the game. You wouldn’t want to learn, would you?” She passed Rainey the honey.
“Thank you, Mrs. Davis,” Rainey answered. “And I’d love to learn.”
“Call me Dottie,” the widow said. “I’ve lived here longer than any of the boarders, almost a year. Mamie and I have become friends over my late-night snacks. You don’t have to worry about her telling, or Mrs. Vivian coming in. After she locks the doors she locks herself in her room and doesn’t come out till morning. I think inside her room she can forget that her big house has renters.”
“What happened to her husband?” Rainey asked as she sipped her tea.
“I heard once that he left in ’forty-nine. Went out looking for gold. Though Mrs. Vivian claims he’s just on a trip to Galveston. Everyone in Austin who knew him said he had quite a temper and was always looking to make fast money.”
The slave nodded. “She acts like he’s coming back any day. Ever month she makes me wash and press his clothes ’cause she says he likes them fresh. I swear, they’ll all be nothing but rags from the washing if he don’t show up soon.”
Dottie shook her head. “He’s not any more likely to come back than the French girl, if you ask me. She got dead and he got gone.”
Mamie agreed.
“Only good thing he ever did was leave Vivian with this house. If he comes back, he’ll take it from her,” Dottie mumbled. “She better pray he stays gone.”
Mamie shrugged. “She won’t let me in her bedroom. Hands me the sheets at the door she does. But I’ve looked in a few times and seen his things setting around like he just left. She moved all her good furniture in there after he left so none of the boarders would wear it out before he gets back.” She picked up her coffee cup and moved away. “She’ll be the only one not surprised when he comes back.”
“I’m sorry to be intruding,” Rainey whispered to Dottie.
Dottie smiled. “We’re glad of the company. You see, Mamie has to do laundry till l
ate, and I’ve spent too many nights staying up into the wee hours to go to bed with the chickens. Mamie was just taking a break.”
Rainey relaxed. Around the widow she never had to talk much. Dottie had a way of making one of her stories flow into the next. It was almost dawn when she finally climbed back to the third floor. Over several card games she’d made two friends.
She slept through breakfast the next morning and didn’t mind a bit. She’d enjoyed her midnight company.
Because she didn’t have to bake, she decided to finish Travis’s letter. But the tiny room seemed to close in around her. She dressed and walked a block down to one of the cafés where she sold her pies.
The owner gave her a table in the corner, and Rainey wrote her letter, talking to Travis as if he were sitting across the table from her, listening. When she finished, she walked home feeling as if she’d spent the day with him.
At the end of her letter about the barmaids’ planned crime, she added:
I enjoyed being with you today. You are as real in my thoughts as those around me. Sometimes I can almost feel your words on my cheek as you stand close to me and whisper as you did at the dance. I wish you had kissed the palm of my hand so I could close my fingers and save it always.
Then she signed the letter as she had before with an R.
She knew she was being very bold, but what did it matter? She’d never see her Ranger again.
CHAPTER 16
TRAVIS TOOK HIS THIRD CUP OF MORNING COFFEE TO the porch and studied the weather. Winter played with dried leaves, rushing them from one corner of the yard to another. He smiled, enjoying the crisp air and thinking of the letter he’d received last week. Just a note really and again signed with only R. She’d told him how she hated winter and the cold almost as much as she hated the darkness. She said she made a few friends, then, like it was important, she added that her hair had grown long enough to put up. She wore it with a ribbon around the curls so that it looked much like a bun.