by Easy Jackson
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” all three of them echoed, and Tennie was happy they at least knew a few manners. She just hoped they didn’t tear up the lawn, wrestling.
“Are you acquainted with Wash and Lafayette, Judge?” she asked after they left.
“Oh, yes. Not perhaps so much Wash. He was very young the last time I saw him—a serious boy with a keen sense of right and wrong, if I remember correctly. Both he and Lafayette were excellent swordsmen. Wash’s skill allowed him to escape an appalling blow with only a scar across his lips.”
Tennie nodded and the judge continued.
“It was a terrible business with Lafayette and his brother. Maribel was always a problem.”
“Maribel?” Tennie asked. “Is that the woman . . . ?”
“Yes, Raiford’s sister and Lafayette’s sister-in-law.”
“Can you tell me something about Raiford Beauregard?” Tennie asked, feeling hesitant about digging into the reputation of a man who was so far above her socially.
The judge frowned. “He’s a pompous, overbearing little jackass still living in the Middle Ages.”
“Oh, fabulous,” Tennie muttered. She caught herself and blushed.
“Don’t worry, my beautiful little Texas girl,” the judge said with a smile. “You will utterly charm him. If not, then he is beyond redemption.”
Tennie laughed. “Not sure about that, but thank you.” Southern men did have a way with words.
He rose, leading her into the parlor, again squeezing her hand. The carpet underneath their feet was so thick, it muffled the sound of every footfall. The room was unlike any she had ever seen, since her services had only taken her into the kitchens and dining rooms of expensive homes. The highly waxed furniture created a soft glow in the room. A fireplace with an elegant mantel graced one wall, while tall bookshelves filled with leather-bound volumes covered another. Hurricane lamps made of exquisite glass sat on small marble-topped tables. Tennie felt it was the most enchanting room in the world.
The judge led her to a velvet-covered chair and took his place in another near her. He insisted she tell him all about herself, from her upbringing to how she got to Texas. His eyebrows raised when she told him Ashton Granger had died almost immediately after the wedding, before they could even spend one night together. She worried she was being too frank.
“And Wash, my dear?” the judge asked delicately. “He has not presumed upon you, I hope?”
“Oh, no,” Tennie said, feeling her face burning a flaming red.
He leaned forward and patted her knee. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”
“Oh, that’s okay,” Tennie assured him. “We kissed, but that’s all.” And she blushed again, chastising herself for blurting out whatever came to mind.
Viola appeared at the parlor door. “Miss Tennie’s bathwater is ready, Your Honor,” she said.
The judge rose, taking Tennie’s hand to assist her from her chair. “Yes, child. You are exhausted, and I have selfishly kept you talking.”
Tennie, walking with him to the door, assured him she had enjoyed their conversation very much. She left him and followed the silent Viola into the large kitchen. The arrangements of pots and pans hanging from hooks on the wall, the large fireplace, and equally massive cookstove had her exclaiming with pleasure.
Viola held up a large sheet in front of a washtub. “You slip out of your clothes, Miss Tennie, and get into this here tub. I opened your bags and brought down your gown and robe.”
“Oh, thank you, Miss Viola,” Tennie said. There had not been much privacy in the orphanage, but it still embarrassed her a little to strip in front of Viola. She did, however, and dropped into the tub quickly. Viola handed her a thick washcloth and a bar of milled soap. She stayed busy in the kitchen while Tennie started washing from the top of her head downward.
As Tennie scrubbed, Viola began to talk. “The judge, he like having young ladies in the house.”
“Really?” Tennie answered. “He’s very nice.”
Viola kept talking without looking directly at her. “Yes’um, he miss his wife a lot.”
Tennie poked the washcloth in her ear and brought out black soot, grimacing when she saw it. “Has she been gone long?”
“Oh, a few years now,” Viola said. “He miss her a lot. He miss having the comforts a woman brings.” She paused. “Especially a young one.”
CHAPTER 16
Tennie’s hand stopped in midair. She swallowed, thinking of the caresses on her hand, the pat on her knee. “Is he going to come into my bedroom?” She took a deep breath.
“I puts a chair in your room,” Viola said. “You puts that chair under the doorknob, and he won’t force hisself in.”
Tennie’s hand relaxed. “Thank you.”
“Unlessen, you might like to be the mistress of a house like this ’un.”
Tennie looked around the kitchen, thinking of her few old iron skillets in Ring Bit. “I would love to have a house like this almost more than anything in the world. But not that way.”
Viola nodded. “I’ll mix up some vinegar and water to pour over your hair. It will cut the soap and make it nice and shiny.”
While Viola mixed vinegar and water in a bucket, Tennie bit her lip. “Miss Viola, can you tell me about the Beauregards?” And because she was tired and worried, tears came into her eyes. “I don’t know how to stop Mr. Beauregard from sending more killers to Ring Bit.”
Viola poured the vinegar water over Tennie’s hair. Putting the bucket down, she said, “I’s tell you what to say if you do something for me.”
Tennie nodded, and Viola continued. “The judge, he always had the respect. Everybody in town look up to him. But after his wife died, and his son and all his grandchildren die in a fire, it done something to him. He got this crazy notion he want to have another son. And the only way that gonna happen if he get a young pretty girl to help his body part achieve the maximum. Folks is starting to whisper about him. Pretty soon, that whispering gonna turn to laughing.”
She paused, and Tennie thought she understood. If the judge’s reputation suffered, Viola’s would, too.
Tennie nodded.
“You tell the judge tomorrow you have to go up in the hills because you don’t want to hurt Mr. Gid’s or his folks’ feelings by not being their houseguest,” Viola said. “But when you get your horse business settled, you come back here and stay again, telling folks how nice the judge treat you, how polite and gentlemanly. After you leave the Beauregards, you spend the night here again while you waiting to leave on the train. You tell everybody you see how respectful and proper the judge treat you.”
“Will it be okay?” Tennie asked, fearful of what might happen. “Will you—”
“He may nudge the gate, but he won’t jump the fence. And I be right here. You do that for me, and I tell you how to handle them brain-addled Beauregards.”
Viola talked all the while helping Tennie into her gown and robe, assuring her as she combed her hair that the plan would work. She ordered Tennie to bed, promising she would see that the boys bathed. Before leading Tennie upstairs to her room, she added more hot water to the tub, telling Rusty to hop in.
Exhausted, Tennie was glad to do as Viola said. Before leaving the kitchen, she reminded the boys to be sure and clean in and around their ears. Viola lit a lamp, and Tennie followed her upstairs into a bedroom as choke full of lovely furniture, thick wallpaper, and soft rugs as the rest of the house. A sturdy chair sat next to the door. Viola placed the lamp on a nightstand, and as she withdrew, Tennie thanked her again.
There was no lock, but Tennie tested the door to see if it would move with the chair under the knob, and it remained firm. Turning down the wick, she sank with relief between the crispest, smoothest sheets she had ever touched. She thought of her scratchy sheets in Ring Bit, and she began to cry. One day, maybe Wash would stop chasing outlaws long enough to give her a home with nice things.
A short while later, in a
sleepy haze, she heard the boys coming up the stairs and entering another bedroom. She forgot to tell them not to jump on the bed, but she was too tired to get up and hoped they were so exhausted, they wouldn’t think of it. She fell into a deeper sleep realizing Viola would make them wash their ears and not jump on the bed anyway.
She wasn’t sure how much later a sound awakened her. She sat up, moonlight flowing in from the window by her bed. The knob on her door turned. Tennie held her breath, but the chair underneath the knob held fast. Her ears heard the soft sound of feet walking away, and she sank back into the pillows, staring at the doorknob for a long time before falling into sleep.
The next morning, Tennie worried the judge might be peeved with her. She found, on the contrary, he was even more genial. When he insisted she stay in town, she haltingly followed Viola’s advice, which she believed to be true anyway. She did not want to hurt Gid’s or his family’s feelings by refusing to stay in their home.
“My dear girl,” the judge said. “I doubt very seriously Nab will even realize you are there. If you don’t drink out of a trough and aren’t on intimate terms with a blacksmith, she considers you not worthy of a thought. But you are a sweet young lady to consider the Coltranes’ feelings. I think the sheriff will be able to get rid of Gid’s brothers, but if there continues to be trouble, I insist you return here.”
Tennie agreed and it relieved her when he requested they stay with him again when they came down from the hills. She didn’t want any kinks in her promise to Viola. She thanked him again profusely for his hospitality. Before they left the breakfast table, she asked his opinion of the Coltrane Farm.
“Oh, they’ve got good horses,” the judge said. “Not Thoroughbreds, but excellent for short track racing and working livestock. Their grandfather and father had that magical way with horses that sometimes touches the Irish. Gid is good with horses, make no mistake about that, but he didn’t inherit that special something Nab has. Nab’s oldest grandson and I think one of the other boys has it, too.”
All the intertwined relations of the Coltranes had Tennie confused. She should have listened closer to Gid’s ramblings about his family. “But the father left for Texas?”
“Yes, Dings left for Texas,” the judge said. “Dings Coltrane had the other habit that sometimes touches the Irish, a love affair with whiskey. Gid’s brothers come and go as it pleases them. Nab can be tightfisted, pouring every cent back into the farm, but when their mother was alive, the other boys could always get what they wanted out of her.”
Tennie still wasn’t clear how the Coltranes could be related to the Beauregards, but the judge enlightened her.
“Raiford’s great-grandfather was a lover of horses. He brought a horse and a young stableboy here from Ireland. Seamus, Gid’s grandfather, stole the heart of one of the daughters, and they eloped. Raiford’s branch of the family has never gotten over it.”
“Mercy,” Tennie said. “I hope I can keep up with all this. Thank you for explaining it to me.”
As they were preparing to leave, Lucas stood near the judge, his eyes roving the house. “What’s a person got to do to be a judge, anyway?”
“Lucas!” Tennie said.
The judge laughed. “A man should become an attorney first. We’ll discuss it further when you get back.”
As Tennie struggled not to laugh at Lucas, thinking he was a born entrepreneur, her eyes were caught by Badger’s behavior. He seemed to be lurking behind Rusty as if he didn’t want to be noticed. Tennie gave him a sharper look. His pockets were bulging. “Badger, what do you have in your pockets?”
He shuffled his feet and looked at the floor.
“Badger,” Tennie warned.
“Biscuits,” he muttered, still not meeting her gaze.
“Did you ask Miss Viola for those biscuits?”
He shook his head.
Tennie took a deep breath. “You take those biscuits back to the kitchen right now, young man. You know better than to take something without having it offered to you first.”
Both the judge and Viola laughed, saying Badger could keep the biscuits, but Tennie insisted. Her skin flushed with shame, but at the same time, if that was the worst the Granger boys had done in the judge’s house, she felt she had gotten off lightly. She was afraid to look at the back lawn.
They were to meet Gid, Hawkshaw, and the sheriff at the courthouse. Viola had stayed up almost the entire night washing and ironing their clothes, along with cooking so she could send a basket of food with them. Hawkshaw and Gid had rented a wagon and loaded it with more supplies. Tennie wondered if Hawkshaw had thought of it, or if it had been more of the judge’s advice. The giant of a mule pulling the wagon had to be Gid’s choice.
They said farewell to the judge, and after helping Tennie into the wagon seat, Gid picked up Badger.
“Come here, you little biscuit stealer,” he said, and tossed him playfully into the wagon bed.
“Here comes the posse,” Hawkshaw said when they reached the courthouse. The sheriff had half a dozen men riding with him.
“Do they expect that much trouble?” Tennie asked, worried over what they were about to ride into.
Hawkshaw stared at her with cool eyes. He shook his head. “Just curious.”
Before they left, the sheriff introduced his men then asked innocently, “Did you sleep well at the judge’s, Miss Tennie?”
If Tennie hadn’t known better, she would have never suspected a thing. “Oh, yes, sir. The judge’s house is beautiful, and he is the perfect host, so proper and respectful, yet so kind to put us up.”
Hawkshaw gave her another long stare but said nothing.
They began their ride into the hills, Gid worrying and mumbling every few minutes over what Nab was going to say about the deal he had made with Hawkshaw. The boys began teasing Badger, quietly at first, about being a biscuit thief.
As the morning went on, the teasing and Badger’s responses became louder. The sheriff’s men took it up, asking Badger if he planned on whipping his brothers for besmirching his good name, offering to hold his shirt so it didn’t get torn, giving him pointers on how to gouge, kick, and bite a bigger opponent.
Badger took the teasing as well as could be expected. Tears welled in his eyes, and he tattled that Rusty had told their playmate of the day before that all the black cowboys in Texas rode bucking horses that threw them so high in the clouds it left their hair snow white, and that Lucas had jumped on the bed after Miss Viola told him not to.
When the men riding with them eventually tired of their teasing and dropped behind them, Tennie turned to the back of the wagon, addressing Badger. “You shouldn’t have done what you did, Badger, but I think you’ve paid enough for your sin. Why don’t you boys sing some of the cattle songs Mr. Wash taught you?” She turned to Gid. “Would you like to hear them sing some cowboy songs, Mr. Gid?”
Gid looked startled. “Is they any about horses?”
“Old Paint!” Lucas said. “We can sing about Old Paint.”
Tennie glanced at the men following the wagon. The sheriff and another man were deep in discussion; the others were openly watching her with interest. She blushed and turned around, quietly joining in the boys’ singing.
Although Gid had been frantic the day before to get back to the farm, he was so worried about facing Nab with the agreement he had made with Hawkshaw, he didn’t mind stopping halfway to give the mule a rest. Tennie got down from the wagon to stretch her legs.
Hawkshaw, who had been ignoring the sheriff and his men, caught her when no one could overhear. “How’d you escape the amorous judge?”
“A chair under the doorknob,” Tennie confessed, not surprised he had guessed what would take place.
Hawkshaw gave a snort. “I knew you could handle it.”
“With the housekeeper’s help,” Tennie said. “And I had to make a deal with her to preserve the judge’s spotless reputation in exchange for a rock-solid plan to protect your life and Lafayette’s f
rom this Beauregard person.”
His eyes bored into her. “What?”
She looked at the men standing with their horses on the roadside. “I can’t tell you now.” She was like Gid, who feared facing Nab. She was sure when Hawkshaw heard the plan, he was going to jump higher than Rusty’s imaginary bucking broncs and come down with both boots planted on her head.
Although they saw no one on the rest of the trip, not even the farmer with the ratty hat, Tennie had the feeling they were being observed. The volley of bullets returned when they reached the gate. but it was the sheriff who yelled at the feuding Coltranes.
“Quit that shooting,” he hollered. “I got a dang posse down here with me, and if bullets get to flying, every horse on this farm is going to become an easy target.”
“This ain’t none of your affair, Sheriff,” Gid’s brother hollered down the hill. “This here is Coltrane business.”
“It is too my affair,” the sheriff said. “Y’all hadn’t paid taxes on this here farm, and now somebody else has done gone up and bought it.”
“What?” was the next holler, but it was clear by the tone someone had the wind knocked out of him.
“You heared me,” the sheriff called. “Now you release Nab and those grandsons. Gid’s got a proposition for you.”
They must have been so bumfuzzled by the sheriff’s news, they decided getting Nab onto the front porch was the best recourse.
Gid looked as nervous as a bridegroom at the end of a shotgun when Nab came out the door, along with her two brothers, who, from a distance, did not look much like kidnappers anymore. Tennie hoped when Nab heard Gid’s news, she didn’t grab the rifle and start shooting.
“What’s this here about the farm being sold for taxes?” Nab called.
“That’s right, Nab,” the sheriff hollered. “The county done sold that property to the first one who come along with the money to pay the back taxes.”
Nab did grab the gun and took aim, but before she could fire, the sheriff interrupted her. “But he sold it back to Gid here. He sold it back to Gid with the provision he gets first pick of two of your mares and two stallions.”