Daughters of the Heart (26 page)

Mixed emotions rode with him as the harbor grew smaller. Hopefully, Henry would relent and allow Cecelia to marry before her birthday.   

Mid-morning a week later, Sofia half-heartedly loaded what she and Braxton would need in a large steamer trunk. She couldn’t believe all the new clothes, and especially loved the fancy-lady dresses he’d bought her.

But the prospect of leaving New Orleans beset her something awful ever since she’d overheard the big fight between Bubba and his father.

Like Henry Buckmeyer would ever let anyone steal one of his girls. She seen it with her own eyes. The man was a cold-blooded killer. Wonder he didn’t murder Bubba that night when he tried to get Gwendolyn to run off with him.

Texas, who wanted to go there? Not her.

She’d never been anywhere and didn’t want to go anywhere. This was her home. She still got to see her mam most Sundays and already arranged the two best midwives just in case one was busy birthing someone else’s baby.

What if Braxton got lost meeting up with the Comanche? How could he know where he be with land in every direction?

Hardly believing he was taking her to Texas, she covered her head with both hands. The Indians would love scalping her…or worse. But she could never be no squaw, staying in a tent and eating nothing but buffalo meat.

Life wasn’t worth living without gumbo at least twice a week. A shiver raced down her back.

Maybe she ought to light out. But where would she go? Old Bull knew too many folks, so she couldn’t hide anywhere around town. And she did like his coin. She ran her fingers over the satiny material of her favorite dress, a shiny orchid one with black lace and little deep purple roses.

Liked his house and food, too, and Bubba’s soft mattress spoiled her good, especially when he wasn’t in it with her. How big did her belly have to get before that man stopped pestering her?

She should never have danced for him that day, but the beat…she let herself drift back to Congo Square. She’d sure miss that the most. If only every day could be a Sunday. She closed her eyes and swayed to the music that played in her head.

The door burst open. Bubba stopped cold, glanced at all her things on the bed, then at her. “Finish packing, baby. We’ve got a steamer to catch.”

She glared at him. “Why do I have to go? I hate Fort Worth, Texas.”

He laughed. “You’ve never been there. How could you hate it?”

“It ain’t New Orleans.”

“You’re going. Now finish packing. We’ve got to get to the dock.”

“Bubba, please, I don’t want to go.”

He stepped closer, grabbed the back of her neck, pulled her lips to his, and kissed her rough. He bit her bottom lip too hard then leaned back and stared right in her eyes. “You’re going with me, and that’s that. Stop whining and get packed.”

He shoved her toward the bed.

She stumbled then righted herself and nodded. “Yes, Massuh.”

“Now you know I don’t like you calling me that.”

Should she answer?

Maybe with her sweetest voice, she might get to him. “And I don’t like you treating me that way either, Bubba. You say you love me, so why do you want to hurt me?”

He didn’t even draw his hand back or hit her or anything, just turned and left the room. When his tone got rough, she knew better than to mess with him, but couldn’t help herself.

Sure hated it that the old Bull hated Henry Buckmeyer so much.

She smiled at Bubba’s back going out the door.

She hated the little Bull, too.

But what could a slave do?      

Henry straightened out the oversized page
, scanned several headlines, then settled on an article reporting the particulars of Cornelius Vanderbilt’s trip around the world in his yacht.

What an idiot. Why would anyone want to be gone that long just to set a record? Mercy, with that kind of money.…

Well, truth be told, his own wealth probably got close, except most of his was tied to the land. And if he started selling it off, its value would nosedive.

Not that he’d ever even considered letting go of one acre, much less enough to affect the market.

“What are you grinning about?”

He looked across what used to be his desk to May’s coy smile, as though she’d caught him at something. “Just taking stock. Do you know Cornelius Vanderbilt?”

“Of course, though not personally. We’ve rubbed elbows at a few parties. Why?”

“He’s just returned from sailing his yacht around the world.”

“What for?”

“Wanted to be the first to do it I guess, bored maybe. Doesn’t say.”

She tickled her chin with her feather. “Might be a story there, but instead of Cornelius, it could be.…” She studied a spot over his head. It amused him how she always thought about her next novel.

“Hey.”

She focused on him. “What?”

“A better story might be based on Yankee Sullivan, losing his boxing title to John Morrissey.”

“A boxing book?”

He grinned at her. “He leaves the ring in the thirty-sixth round to slug some of Morrissey’s fans, then when he doesn’t toe the line in time, he loses.”

She shakes her head. “Now where’s the romance in that?”

“What if…oh, I don’t know. You’re the writer, but it could ruin him until he meets this wonderful novelist who saves him from a boring, loveless life.”

She smiled. “I love you, dear Henry.”

“I love you, too.” He folded his paper shut, halved it, quartered it, then laid it on the corner of the desk. “You going to be much longer?”

“I’m not sure. Why? Something you’re wanting to do?”

He stood. “Thought I’d check on Crockett, see if he’s up from his nap.”

Houston-size bootfalls echoed from the hall, then his office door burst open. “Pa, rider coming.”

“You forget to knock, Son?”

The boy glanced at the ceiling briefly then shrugged. “He’s working a good lather, Pa.”

“Anyone we know?”

“Looks like Elijah, but I’m not sure. Want me to get the Patterson?” He held his hand out toward May.

“No, let’s go see who it is first before we think about plugging anyone.”

Cecelia stepped back, turned sideways, smoothing her waist, then with another turn, looked over her shoulder and studied that view of her new dress before she faced Gwen. “I love it! Thank you, so much! If only Elijah was here.”

“Yes, if only…” Her sister exhaled. “If only.”

“Oh, don’t be so melancholy. You don’t know Clay even got that first letter. Maybe he didn’t. They’ll both be here in another month or two. You’ll see. He loves you, Gwendolyn. He’ll understand even if he did get it.”

“Why would he? I mean I practically scorned him! No. What I see ahead for me is being an old maid aunt to a passel of nieces and nephews, but never knowing the joy of being a mother, having a baby of my own.”

“Oh, that isn’t true.”

“I’ll probably spend the rest of my life right here, taking care of the old folk and other people’s babies.” She glanced toward Crockett.

“But he is our brother.”

“I know, didn’t mean to sound so resentful.” She waved her off. “Besides, I’m not talking about Crockett or the new baby, either. But more in general. I love babies so much, but…”

Her chin dropped to her chest, and several minutes passed in silence. Was she going to start crying again? But then she looked up with a grin. “Sure don’t see how Mama can get any bigger, do you?”

“I know, but Miss Jewel says she’s got another month or more.” CeCe laughed.

“Her belly’s liable to burst like a watermelon in the sun if she goes another two weeks, forget a month.”

“Hey, you two best get down here.” Houston’s voice boomed from what sounded like the first landing.

Rolling her eyes, Gwen shook her head. “That boy needs more discipline. Let’s ignore him. Maybe he’ll go away.”

Then his loud clomps announced his eminent arrival, and the door burst open. The nine-year-old’s eyes sparkled, and he grinned at Cecelia. “You have a caller.”

“What are you talking about?”

He giggled and twisted his hips like a little girl. “There’s a Mister…uh…” He tapped a finger against his chin. “Umm.”

“Samuel Houston Buckmeyer!”

“Shhhhh! Y’all are going to wake Crockett!”

The baby reared his head, smiled, then held his hands out to his big brother. “Hooson!”

The boy stepped to the bed and lifted the boy onto his hip. “It’s Eversole!” He erupted into guffaws and shook his whole body and the baby who laughed with him. “Elijah’s downstairs, and he wants you!” He turned and ran, but stopped at the door. “We don’t know why though.”

“What? Elijah is here?” She glanced at her sister then hurried to the window and peeked out. A strange horse stood at the hitching post. “How?”

“Oh dear, something must have happened. Best get down there and you can find out.”

She stepped toward the door, then backed up and faced Gwen. “How do I look?” She glanced at the mirror one last time. “Should I change? No…yes.” She glared at her brother who grinned from the door. “This better not be one of your pranks, little brother!”

His brows furrowed, and he stomped his foot. “Cross my heart and hope to die! Stick a needle in my eye if I ain’t telling the truth! Want me and Crockett to go tell him you’re too busy primping in front of the mirror?”

“Don’t you dare, you little brat! He’s really here?”

“Right down there talking to Ma and Pa! And Bonnie’s flirting with him, too!” He shot her his goofiest little boy face. “If I’s you, I’d get down there.” He held the baby’s hand high in the air. “Let’s go, Brother!”

“Be careful with him going down those stairs!”

Elijah came early?

Her heart thundered. She swallowed and pinched her cheeks then hurried to the door.

When she looked back one last time, tears streamed down Gwen’s cheeks. “Oh sister, I’m so sorry.”

Gwen covered her eyes as the tears flowed. What a fool she’d been. Why had she sent that awful letter? She sniffed. Ought to go at least tell Elijah hello, but just seeing him would only make it worse.

Guess she should hear for her own self that Clay had…found someone new. Or maybe he’d been so heartsick, he’d just headed north to parts unknown?

Her door creaked open. “Are you deaf? I said Pa said he wanted you, too.”

“Go away, Houston.”

“Well, fine, crybaby. If you don’t want to hear about Clay, just fine!”

She looked up. “What about him?”

“I don’t know. I don’t care. Pa wants you! Want me to tell him you ain’t coming?”

“No!” She glare. “Go on and give me a minute. Tell them I’m coming. I’ll be on down.”

Even after daubing her eyes and pinching both cheeks, it still looked like she’d been crying. Oh, well, wasn’t like Clayton Briggs would be looking at her.

His name echoed through her soul and threatened to push out more tears, but she threw her shoulders back, swallowed, and marched downstairs.

Found them all in Daddy’s library. Him sitting at his desk with May next to him in the extra chair, rocking Crockett. Elijah sat in the far wingback with Cecelia next to him in a kitchen chair someone had fetched.

At least Houston and Bonnie were not underfoot.

Her father nodded toward the nearest wingback, like they’d been saving it for her. “Sit down, baby. Elijah’s brought news.”

Oh no! Was he dead? Had he gone and killed himself over losing her? She’d never forgive herself. Her life was about to be changed forever, ruined. Sure and certain, they’d saved her a ringside seat. How could she live, knowing it was all her fault?

But…she must face the music, as it was hers to hear.

Her mother would turn over in her grave if she ran off without knowing exactly how bad….

She eased down but didn’t scoot back then gave her sister’s beau a nod. “It’s good to see you, Elijah.” Such a liar! Why had she said that to him? Him showing up alone turned an ordinary bad day into a horrible one.

It wasn’t good to see him, not at all! He just reminded her that Cecelia’s future promised a happy-ever-after, and hers would be anything but!

He extracted the hand that had been holding her sister’s and leaned forward. “Clay got your first letter, but not the second one.”

She knew it. Had all along. Wanted to think otherwise, but down deep, she knew. “Is he…is Clay…” Braxton had ruined her life and caused her to break Clay’s heart.

“The same steamer brought your letter carried one from Jake, about how sick their father was.”

Her father nodded. “Yes, we all hated it that J.T. took sick and died while Clay was gone.”

Elijah jumped to his feet. “I should have asked first thing! Clay said he’d only stay a week if his father was dead when he got here.”

Gwendolyn sprang out of the wingback. “What? Here? Clay’s in Red River County?”

“Well, maybe. At least he was, I guess. Left soon as I could after him once Mary got the news about the fiasco in New Orleans.”

Gwen grasped two handfuls of her skirt. “Daddy, I’ve got to go. Try to catch him. Talk to him.” She turned toward the door then turned back. “Can I take the black? Can you get him saddled while I change? Please.”

“Now just sit back down, Gwendolyn. We’ll send someone. You don’t even know where the Briggs live, and you cannot go alone.”

“I’ll find them! Please.” She looked to Elijah. “Where was he going next? When would he have arrived? Has he been here the full seven days yet?” She faced May. “Why didn’t he come here?”

“Well, darling, I’m certain he thought you’d be married.”

“I sailed nine days after he left. Can’t be sure how long he’s been here, or if he still is, but he said he was coming back to San Francisco.”