Captive Trail (35 page)

At last Ned would be with Billie again. In a letter from Jud he’d received detailed directions and reassurance of his welcome. He hurried Champ along past ranches and greening fields.

As he rode farther south, he began to pass large farms where dark-skinned workers were planting cotton. Slaves. Ned gazed at them with uneasiness in his heart. In her letters, Billie had told him more about the slaves kept by the Comanche or sold to the Comancheros. It didn’t matter to them what color skin the person had—whites, blacks, Mexicans, and Indians from other tribes all could be forced into slavery. Ned loathed the cruelty of it, and he couldn’t fathom how white farmers justified owning these people. But Texas had come into the Union as a slave state. He hadn’t seen much of it up where he and Tree had their ranch, but they’d heard of the unrest the issue brought to the entire nation. Ned didn’t like it, and was relieved
that Billie reported the Morgans had only free workers on the Running M ranch.

On February twenty-second, he trotted under the gate to the ranch and up the lane toward the Morgan house. On either side were pastures and holding pens. A sizable herd of beef cattle grazed off to his right. Ahead sat a substantial, two-story house and large barn. In the corrals near the barn and the pasture beyond them, horses grazed or dozed. Colts ran about, nipping and chasing one another, kicking up their heels for sheer joy. Ned had never seen so many horses—and all of them looked like healthy, sturdy mounts, with sweet faces and well-muscled, compact bodies. He stopped his pinto and gazed at them before he rode on to the dooryard.

Was he out of his mind to ask Billie to leave all this? And would she be afraid living up north, closer to the Comanche lands? They raided everywhere, especially in summer, but Victoria seemed quite civilized now, and she’d have more people around her here. Would she agree to leave the family she’d just found so soon?

The barn door stood wide open, and a couple of men worked inside, so Ned rode up close and swung out of the saddle. It felt good to stand on solid ground. He let the pinto’s reins fall and stepped inside, pulling his gloves off.

Jud Morgan turned toward him and grinned.

“Ned! Glad to see you!” He clasped Ned’s hand. “This is Ricardo Estanza, one of my ranch hands. We’re just cleaning things out a bit and making plans for our spring roundup.”

Ned shook hands with Ricardo and chatted for a few minutes about cattle and the weather.

“I know you want to see Billie,” Jud said. “Let me take you inside. Ricardo, could you put Ned’s horse up, please?”

Ned retrieved his bundle of clothing and saddlebags and followed Jud to the house. They went in through the kitchen
door. A lovely blonde woman wearing an overall apron stood at a work table cutting biscuits. She looked up and gave them a dazzling smile.

“You must be Ned.”

“This is my wife, Wande,” Jud said.

Beyond her, Billie whirled and met his eyes.

“I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs. Morgan,” Ned said, but his gaze slid back to Billie—more beautiful than he’d ever seen her. She wore a bright red calico dress that suited her coloring, and her hair fell in glossy waves over her shoulders.

She came and held out her hands, her face slightly flushed and her blue eyes sparkling. “I am so glad you got here safely.”

Ned dropped his bundle and took both her hands in his. He wanted to draw her into an embrace, but that wouldn’t be proper. He blushed as he stammered a thank-you. “You look wonderful.”

“Doesn’t she?” Wande asked.

“We’ve put a lot of effort into fattening her up,” Jud said.

Wande’s mouth opened wide as if she was horrified at his remark. “Really, Jud, that is not the way to speak of a lady’s health.”

Jud laughed. “One thing about Billie, she knows when I’m teasing.”

She really did look healthy, not emaciated as she had in October. No sign remained of her injuries.

Wande laid a hand on Billie’s sleeve. “Why don’t you take Ned into the parlor? You know Ma is longing to meet him, and I think Marion is in there too.”

In a whirl, Ned was introduced to Billie’s mother, sister, nephews, and niece. He noticed a piano against one wall, and he had to ask.

“Billie, did you find that you could still play the piano?” An impish smile curved her lips. “You will see later.”

“All right.” She hadn’t mentioned it in her letters, and he sensed a surprise was in store.

“She picked it up again very quickly,” her mother said, “but then, it runs in the Morgan family, just like the penchant for raising horses.”

“And the flute?” Ned asked.

Mrs. Morgan smiled. “It was as if she’d never laid it down. Of course, she had her Comanche flute, though it’s not the same. I was astonished at how much she remembered. In only a few weeks, she was reading music.”

“It is another language,” Billie said.

Marion laughed. “Yes, we’ve decided you are very good at languages. She’s even picked up a smattering of German from Wande and my husband, Peter.”

An image flashed through Ned’s mind of Billie, sought after and much respected as a translator of fine literature into other languages. Perhaps people would ask her to lecture on linguistics—or music or—

He looked at her, slightly troubled by his thoughts. It had never occurred to him, but Billie had such an engaging personality, people would flock to hear her speak about her experiences. How could he ask her to go back up north and be the wife of a stagecoach driver?

While Ned was upstairs settling in, Billie headed back to the kitchen.

“Oh, no you don’t!” Wande shoved her back out into the next room. “You are done working for tonight. Marion and Ma will help me finish getting supper ready.”

“But—”

“No buts,” Marion said from behind her. “Peter will be here soon to eat supper with us. We’ll call you when it’s time.”

“Take Ned out and show him around the place,” her mother suggested.

Ned appeared at the top of the stairs, and Billie smiled at him, feeling a bit shy. “I am supposed to show you … I’m not sure what.”

He laughed. “I’d love to see it.”

She threw on a shawl and took him out to the barn. They found Ned’s horse contentedly stabled and eating hay. Jud joined them as they walked around the corrals, explaining to Ned some of the finer points of breeding Morgans.

After fifteen minutes, he went off to help Ricardo. Ned walked slowly along the rail fence with Billie.

“Ma said she would call us when Pastor Bader gets here. He’s Marion’s husband. When he comes, we will eat together.”

“Your family’s terrific,” Ned said. “I can see that they love you very much.”

“Yes. This time with them has been a blessing—one of those gifts God gives us.”

Ned nodded, remembering their broken conversation about “Amazing Grace” back at the Ursuline mission. “I’m very happy for you. I can’t believe all of this is happening, and I’m finally here with you.”

“I know. It has been wonderful to be here these past few months, but all the time I was waiting—waiting for you.” She lowered her head and focused on the ground. Ned here beside her—the reality she’d waited for so long almost took her breath away. Every anxiety she’d had over the past few months slipped away. Ned hadn’t forgotten her or tired of her—silly notions, those. Over the winter there had been no more Comanche raids along the stagecoach route. He had come through the season in good health, and he’d made the long journey safely. Ned was here—the answer to a thousand earnest prayers.

He stopped walking and snaked his arm around her. “Billie, I love you.”

Her heart swelled with contentment, and she smiled up at him. “This is what I have wished for.”

He squeezed her gently then let go of her and leaned on the top rail of the fence. “I never saw horses like these. There’s not a sorry nag in the bunch.”

“That is true.” She stood beside him in silence. What had caused this sudden change of mood and topic? The last rays of sun tinged the sky orange and pink as they watched the horses.

“I can’t imagine you’d ever want to leave this place,” Ned said at last. “It’s so beautiful here, and your family loves you so much.”

“I feel safe,” she said. “But …”

Ned straightened and looked at her somber face. “But what?”

“But I love you, and I want to …” He waited.

She glanced up at him then looked away, afraid she had been too bold.

“Please say it, Billie. Do you want to be with me? Would you marry me and come back to the ranch?”

The blazing colors seemed to leap from the sky to her heart. “Yes. Oh, yes, Ned.”

He engulfed her in his arms, and she held on to him.

“I love you,” he said. “I’d marry you tomorrow, or next week, or I’ll come back again in the summer if you want.”

“Will we live in the ranch house with Señor Garza and his children?”

“We could build a house of our own if you wanted. That might be better. We could stay with Tree’s family until it’s built. Or I could go home and build it first.” He kissed her, and she knew she didn’t want to wait. She wouldn’t insist on a perfect
house. She’d lived in a tepee for years, and she could adapt to nearly anything, so long as she was with Ned.

“I think maybe tomorrow is too soon,” she whispered, “but next week … Hmm.”

Ned drew back and studied her face. “Really?”

“I think my mother will insist on at least that long. The Morgans are big on celebrating properly. There will be baking and cleaning and sewing. Maybe even two weeks. Were you going to stay that long?”

For a moment, Ned seemed speechless, then he let out a whoop. “I expect I’d better go talk to your brother again. Whatever you and your Ma decide on for time, I’ll abide by.”

“Thank you,” Billie said. She wasn’t going to let him get away so easily, though. “You can talk to Jud after supper.”

“All right.”

She felt very daring as she slid her hands around his neck and drew him down to meet her. Ned pulled her back into his embrace without protest.

E
XCERPT FROM
The Long Trail Home

W
ACO
, T
EXAS
, 1858

T
hat one right there—he’s your mark.”

Annie Sheffield slipped past her daddy and peeked around the corner of the building. A handsome youth with wheat-colored hair stood in the dirt road in front of the mercantile, a shiny pocket watch dangling from his fingers on a silver chain. Annie squinted when a shaft of light reflected off the watch, and she blinked several times, refocusing on her prey. A much younger boy with the same color hair reached for the watch, but the older boy lifted the treasure higher to safety.

The older boy’s look was stern but gentle. “No, Timothy. Remember this watch was Grandpa’s. It’s very old, and we must be careful with it.”

The younger boy’s face scrunched up but he nodded. Then the comely youth bent down and allowed Timothy to hold the shiny watch for a moment before he closed it and put it back
in a small bag, a proud smile on his handsome face.

Ducking back into the alley, Annie leaned against the wall in the early evening shadows. She glanced at her daddy. “Do I have to?”

“You wanna eat, don’tcha? We need that watch.”

“But that boy looks so proud of it.” Her father narrowed his gray eyes. “I’d be proud if’n it was
mine.”

Annie sighed. If her father possessed the watch, he’d just go hock it or gamble it away.

“Go on with ya.” He flicked his thin index finger in the air, pointing toward the street. He tugged down on the ugly orange, green, and brown plaid vest that he always wore. “Scat!”

Annie peered around the building again, taking a moment to judge how fast she’d have to run and where she could hide once she’d taken the watch. She’d come to hate being a pickpocket. Ever since she heard that street preacher several months back in Galveston hollering to a small crowd of spectators that stealing was breaking one of God’s special laws, it had nagged her worse than a swarm of mosquitoes. But she was hungry, and they had no money.

She studied the boy’s long legs. Could she outrun him? And what about his little friend?