“Respect blossomed in that workshop. A respect that grew into something . . . more.”
Eliza repositioned herself on the wagon bench, uncomfortable speaking of her parents’ immorality. No matter how many times her mother tried to justify their relationship with talk of love and how it was only because of society’s intolerance that they’d never wed, the truth was still the truth. Her mother had given herself to a man without the benefit of marriage vows, and her father had not had the courage to defy convention and marry her mother, even in secret. He could have taken her to New York or Vermont, states with no anti-miscegenation laws. He’d had sufficient wealth to pay someone off and ensure secrecy. Even if he never acknowledged the marriage publicly, she and Mama would have had the comfort of the truth. The blessing of legitimacy in the eyes of God, if not in the eyes of society. But her parents had chosen to walk a different path.
“When he was a young man, Papa fell ill with the mumps, and the physicians told him he was sterile. After having no children with his first wife, the last thing he expected was to beget a child on my mother.” Eliza tried to pretend she hadn’t noticed the tightening of Jonah’s mouth or the clenching of his jaw. “But Mama discovered the truth mere weeks before Lincoln issued the Emancipation Proclamation in January 1863. Papa was so obsessed with the idea of having fathered a child, any child, that when my mother demanded he draw up freedom papers on the day I was born, just in case the South found a way to win the war, he didn’t argue. When the Union prevailed and the Thirteenth Amendment was ratified, she informed him that the two of us would stay with him only if he agreed to her terms.”
The muscles in Jonah’s face relaxed a bit. The corner of his mouth even twitched. “Somehow I don’t find that hard to imagine.”
Eliza smiled. Her mother’s fearlessness in standing up for herself and for her child was the trait Eliza most strove to emulate. Reckless when necessary, but always intelligent. Never haphazard. Risks were always assessed but seldom allowed to stand in the way of progress.
“She had three conditions for staying. First, he could never marry or have relations with another woman. Second, he had to settle the equivalent of a dowry upon me, placing the funds in an account that only she and I could access, to ensure that should something happen to one or both of my parents, I would not be left destitute. And third—and to my mother, the most important—he had to commit, in writing, that he would educate me at the same level he would a legitimate son and heir. My mother believed education to be the true road to equality. Not only between races, but between genders as well.
“My father proved true to his word on all three counts. He allowed me to attend the local freedmen school and even tutored me himself some evenings once I was old enough to study the sciences. He took such pride in my scholastic accomplishments, sure it was his bloodline that enabled my success, never realizing that it was Mama who taught me my letters well before I started school. Mama who snuck books to me and encouraged me to read at every opportunity. Mama who helped me with my sums and quizzed me in history.
“He never took another wife. And when he and I were together, he treated me as his daughter. Playing with me. Reading with me.” One memory in particular rose to settle softly on her heart. “I learned to dance by standing on his shoes.” She sought out Jonah’s gaze. “It was only natural for me to call him Papa.”
The fond memory faded, replaced by others wrapped not in velvet but in stinging nettles. Her gaze fell to her lap, where her fingers gripped her book far too tightly. “However, whenever we were out in public or when visitors came to the house, Mama and I addressed him as sir or Mr. Farmington. I remember Mama coaching me over and over when I was a girl about what to call him, depending on where we were or who was around. I was always so careful. Until the day Mrs. Bellows called at the house with her daughter. Widow Bellows hoped to make a match with my father. He’d done his best to avoid her company, but when she showed up at his door, hospitality had to be offered. Mama ordered me to stay in the kitchen, away from the guests, but my curiosity got the better of me.
“Remembering I had left my doll in the parlor, I decided to fetch it. I wouldn’t say a word. Just creep in, retrieve my doll, and leave. I yearned to see the woman and little girl who wanted to steal my papa away.”
How foolish she’d been. How impetuous. She’d never blindly followed a whim since that day.
Jonah turned at her silence, his voice gentle as he prodded, “What happened?”
Moisture pooled in Eliza’s eyes at the tenderness in his voice. She ruthlessly blinked it away. “The doll wasn’t where I’d left it. Nelda Bellows, the widow’s daughter, had found it and was playing with it on the rug next to the hearth. She had it cradled in her arms and was murmuring a quiet lullaby.
“Seeing that doll in her arms, I realized for the first time how wrong everything was. That doll, my doll, looked nothing like me and everything like Nelda. I used to think the doll’s brown hair and eyes were like mine, but they weren’t. Not really. My frizzy spiral curls were nothing like the silky tresses of the doll, curling only at the ends. My brown eyes were two shades too dark. And my skin, while a good deal lighter than Mama’s, looked more like dead leaves than the snowy perfection of the doll’s white porcelain face. Nelda’s face was white. Her hair long and silky. Even her blue dress matched the doll. All I could think in that moment was that she was the daughter my father must have wanted. Why else would he buy a doll with white skin and silky hair?” Eliza shook her head. “It never occurred to me that china dolls only came in one color.”
“What’d you do?”
Not one to let maudlin emotions control her, Eliza straightened her shoulders and raised her brows in mock haughtiness. “I marched directly over to Nelda, held out my hand, and demanded she give me my doll. At once.”
“At once, huh?” His tone lightened, as she’d intended, but the sympathy in his gaze lingered, as if he could guess how the story would end.
“Indeed. And when she refused to do so, I stomped over to where my father was taking tea with Mrs. Bellows and said, ‘Make her give me my doll, Papa.’ Mrs. Bellows gasped. Papa’s face reddened. Then his hand shot out and cuffed me across the mouth. It was the first time he’d ever struck me. I ran from the room, devastated. Not because he had hit me, but because I’d realized he was ashamed of me. Ashamed of my very existence. I never forgot myself in company again.”
Jonah said nothing, but his hand covered hers. Its warmth soothed and strengthened, helping her pack away the painful memory.
“He apologized later, of course, but our relationship was never the same after that.”
Jonah traced the line of her thumb with his. “I’m sorry, Eliza.”
She nodded, those simple words having a profound effect. They freed something inside her, some small piece that still believed that shame was hers to carry. It wasn’t. She knew that in her head. But in the dark of night, as she lay alone, there were times when her heart still doubted. Perhaps that was why she’d never told Katherine this story. Despite her being the most compassionate person Eliza had ever met, she didn’t know what it was like to live in brown skin. To wear the stain of illegitimacy. To pretend to be a servant around the man who was supposed to be her protector and defender.
Jonah might not relate to the details, but he understood the core conflict. The fight to believe oneself worthy in a world that communicated the opposite.
“All that to say, my father has made his share of mistakes, but he’s also done much to provide for me. Especially in my education. He financed my college tuition—anonymously, of course. Couldn’t risk his customers and neighbors learning he’d paid to educate a servant.” His hypocrisy still left a bitter taste in her mouth.
He’d commended himself for being so progressive, so kind to her and Mama. But time after time, when push came to shove, he succumbed to society’s dictates. Refusing to take a stand anywhere other than in his mind. Yet, he was still her father, and even with
the growing rift between them, she had to acknowledge the truth. “Without him, I never would have attended Howard and earned my teaching degree. My doorway to freedom, as Mama likes to call it.”
“I’ve got one of those too,” Jonah said, releasing her hand to dig in his trouser pocket.
“A teaching degree?” Eliza asked with a raised brow.
“Nope.” He finally pulled whatever he’d been searching for out of his pocket. “A doorway to freedom.” He opened his hand and revealed the worn brass casing of a small compass. “Only my daddy called it the key to freedom. He and my ma used this very compass to find their way north on the Underground Railroad before I was born.”
He gestured for her to take it. She held it reverently, recognizing at once the treasure it represented. She opened the lid and watched as the needle wobbled with the movement of the wagon yet held true to its course.
“Daddy passed it on to me when I left to join the Army. Said it would guide me to freedom just as it had guided him.”
Eliza’s brow scrunched. “But weren’t you already free?”
“Free from slavery, sure, but there’s a lot more out there that will enslave a man if he surrenders to it. Hatred. Bitterness. Greed. Drink.” Jonah snorted softly and shook his head. “Daddy feared war would steal my soul. That the wandering lifestyle of a cavalry unit would leave me untethered, and I’d forget who I was.” He caught her gaze. “Your mama believed education brought freedom. My daddy believed freedom lay in the land. Owning it. Working it. Building a homestead and raising a family on it. He’s been after me for years to buy a piece of property somewhere and settle down. Says a man don’t really know who he is until he’s got his own land under his feet and a family at his side.”
Eliza peered closer, her heart thumping a touch faster as she studied his face. “And what do you say?”
Dark eyes melded with hers, eyes that had experienced their own pain and disillusionment. “I say nothing teaches a man who he is more than war.”
He turned back to the road, making it clear he’d welcome no probing on that particular topic. At least not today. But what about the other topic? The one his daddy had found such value in?
She carefully closed the lid to the compass, the quiet click barely audible above the rattle of the wagon wheels and harness. “What about the land? Do you plan to settle down and buy a piece someday?”
He shrugged. “Maybe. Never really had a thing for farming, but running cattle has possibilities.”
And family? Eliza longed to ask, but such a question would be far too presumptuous. Besides, it would make her sound like she was applying for the position. Which she wasn’t, no matter what her wildly thumping heartbeat said to the contrary. She’d known him less than a week.
Yet she felt as if she’d known him half her life.
Maybe it was the danger heightening things. Or maybe it was just the man himself. Stoic. Contrary. Stubborn as new shoe leather. Yet there was a solidity to him that invited leaning. Like a Greek column that still stood straight and tall after thousands of years. He could be relied upon. Perhaps that was why she’d shared more of herself with this man in the last few days than she had with any other person of her acquaintance.
Eliza turned Jonah’s compass over in her hand and found an inscription etched on the back. The writing was shaky, as if etched into the brass by an amateur hand, but she made out a pair of letters and four numbers. “PS 3278. What does that stand for?”
Jonah lifted his chin and smiled, his eyes lighting. “Psalm 32:7–8. My daddy scratched that into the back before I left home.” His gaze moved toward the sky as he spoke the scripture from memory. “‘Thou art my hiding place; thou shalt preserve me from trouble; thou shalt compass me about with songs of deliverance. I will instruct thee and teach thee in the way which thou shalt go: I will guide thee with mine eye.’” When he finished the recitation, his attention came back to her. “Daddy said the first verse was a prayer for my safety, and the second was to remind me not to get too big for my britches.” His grin widened. “I’ve always been a crack shot. Eyes like an eagle, folks like to say.” He shrugged away the praise. “Daddy liked to say that no matter how keen a man’s eyesight, he still couldn’t see everything. He needed the Lord’s eye to guide him and instruct him on the way that he should go.”
Eliza traced the crude lettering with her fingertip. “Your daddy sounds like a wise man.”
Jonah nodded, his gaze traveling to a distant spot in front of the wagon. “That he is.”
She handed the compass back to him. He shoved it into his pocket, and silence resumed. It was a different type of silence than before, however. There was no awkwardness. Just quiet—as if both passengers had weighty notions to contemplate and neither wanted to interrupt the other. Eventually, the mood lightened and chatter resumed. He pointed out rabbits and prairie dogs when they scampered near the road. She asked about his life as a Horseman. He told her stories of criminals brandishing guns and branding irons. She regaled him with tales of troublemaking boys brandishing snakes and spiders. By the time they rolled into Llano, they were completely at ease in each other’s company. The history book had been neglected for the majority of the trip, and Eliza hadn’t missed Mr. Quackenbos’s scholarly exhortations one iota.
After dropping the wagon off at the wheelwright for repairs, Jonah rented a replacement wagon and drove Eliza to the general store so she could stock up on supplies while he ran the other errands that had brought them to town.
As he saw to the horses, slipping a feed bag over each of their heads so they could replenish their energy before making the long journey home, he searched Eliza out on the boardwalk in front of the general store. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d spent four uninterrupted hours with a woman, let alone enjoying it. It almost made him want to tag along at the store instead of seeing to his own business. But then, the faster he took care of his business, the faster he could have her to himself again. Maybe he’d see if she wanted to stop by the river to eat their lunch on the way back to Kingsland. He’d noticed a pretty spot on the way into town. Far enough from the road to afford them some privacy, but close enough to maintain propriety.
The thought gave his stride extra length and pace as he cut the corner of Main and Ford and headed along the courthouse square to the county jail at the end of the block. Sheriff Porter proved a fair-minded fellow when he learned of Jonah’s connection to the Horsemen. He took down Jonah’s information and filled out a report on Wart’s disappearance as well as Rawley’s attempted abduction. The lawman also offered to wire his deputy in Kingsland and encourage him to poke around Honey Creek a bit, see if any of the locals had noticed a change in outlaw activity in the area.
“Most folks out there stay to themselves,” the sheriff said, “but it’s possible someone might have seen something. I’ll tell Bronson to expect a visit from you middle of next week for a report.”
It was more cooperation than Jonah had expected, so he tipped his hat and thanked Porter for his assistance. “I’ll wire you if we turn up a lead,” he promised, even as he realized that wasn’t the only wire he needed to send.
Leaving the jailhouse, he headed for the telegraph office, only to pull up short when he heard his name being called. He turned to the east, his right hand inching closer to his weapon, but he relaxed when he recognized Dr. Hampton hailing him from the boardwalk in front of a barbershop.
“Mr. Brooks!” The doctor hurried down to the street and wove between two ladies out for a stroll and a farmer toting a bag of chicken feed on his shoulder as he crossed to meet Jonah on the other side. “Oh, I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you.”
“What can I do for ya, Doc?”
Hampton took a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his face where perspiration had gathered after his short jaunt. “Did you and Mr. Wallace make it to Harmony House with the baby? How is she doing? Have you heard?”
Jonah nodded, impressed that the doctor took such a
personal interest in a child who had never really been under his care. “Little one’s doin’ well, as far as I know. Miss Southerland found a wet nurse in the area, and we delivered the babe to her that very day. The ladies at Harmony House have pledged to give the child a home with them once she’s weaned.”
Had it only been a couple of days since baby Sarah brought him and Wallace to Harmony House? It seemed like ages ago. So much had happened since.
“Thank the Lord, she’s all right.” Dr. Hampton shoved his folded handkerchief back into his suit coat pocket. “I’ve been praying for her. Poor little thing, thrust into the world under such harsh circumstances. I should have known the ladies of Harmony House would set things to rights for her. They are a godsend to this community, I tell you. A godsend.”
“Yes, sir.” Jonah couldn’t agree more.
“I’m hopeful their services will not be needed permanently in this case, however.”
Jonah frowned. “What do you mean?”
Excitement lit the doctor’s face. “I’ve written to the Dawsons. Wendell’s folks. I’m hoping they’ll take Fern and her baby under their wing. I’ve been checking on Fern every day. She’s not the first expectant mother I’ve tended who has struggled with depressed mood, though her grief certainly compounded things. My prayer is that, in time, her mind will heal and she will want to be a mother to her child. If not, perhaps the baby’s grandparents will want to raise her.”
“It’d be good for the girl to have family.”
Though Harmony House could be that for her too. In fact, he’d kinda suspected that Wallace might want to adopt Sarah himself if he and Miss Katherine got around to tying the knot. Most kids were stuck with whatever parents biology dictated, but little Sarah had options. He prayed the Lord placed her with the best one.
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