Authors: Deborah Camp
Banner studied each face, each solemn expression. She was glad to see Della Dyersburg there with her husband Bob and their daughters. She nodded to them. Like her, Della and her daughters wore black and matching bonnets. Every female in the county and beyond had “mourning clothes,” which had been donned far too often. Della’s answering smile sparked an idea that spread excitement through Banner. While men were hard to talk sense to when it came to revenge and other hostile behavior, women were more willing to listen. Maybe if she had a meeting for women to discuss the violence sweeping across the county, the ladies could become more aware and insist that their menfolk not join nor support the vigilantes.
“Let us pray,” the preacher intoned, and all heads bowed.
When the last “amen” drifted across the cemetery, Banner pulled her heavy, wool shawl closer around her shoulders against the sharp breath of winter. Callum rested his hand on the small of her back, and when she didn’t start for the buggy, he arched a brow in a silent question.
“I just want to speak to the preacher a moment,” she said, then walked away from him before he could comment or, more likely, protest. The preacher stood among a few of Decker’s former house staff, nodding as they spoke to him. When he noticed Banner standing nearby, his dark eyes widened fractionally and he sent her a gentle smile.
“Hello.” Banner held out her gloved hand and he grasped it for a moment before letting go. “I’m Miss Payne. Your words were very moving.”
“Were you a friend of the deceased?”
“Well . . . yes. I knew him. We went to the same church and he wanted to buy my land.”
“Ah.” The preacher nodded.
“Did he ever attend your church?”
“No, he did not. Brother Andre here asked me to conduct the graveside services for Mr. Decker.” He rested a hand on the shoulder of a tall, slim man with wooly black whiskers and a big, toothy grin.
“I worked for Mistah Decker,” Andre said with a pronounced southern drawl. “I was his butlah.”
“Oh, I see.” She regarded the tall man for a moment. “That was kind of you . . . and of you,” she said, switching her gaze from Andre to the preacher. “I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name.”
“The Reverend Saul Beauchamp.” He bowed slightly at the waist.
“Beauchamp? I know of a family in Denton with that name.”
“That’s right.” His smile frosted over. “I was one of their slaves.”
A sliver of shame snaked through her. Although her family had never owned slaves, they had never spoken against anyone who did and she’d grown up thinking it was as natural to own other people as it was to witness rain showers every spring. But it was different now. So very different. The war and its consequences had opened her eyes and flooded her conscience with an awareness of the unforgiveable wrong that had been done to so many.
“I hope to visit your church one day, Reverend,” she said, hitching up her chin.
The coldness melted from his smile. “You will be most welcome there, Miss Payne.”
“Thank you.” She gave a small nod, looking from one person to the next, before turning and making her way back to a frowning Callum.
“You just love to stir the embers, don’t you?” he whispered to her when she was near him again.
“I was practicing good manners,” she replied. “I think it’s despicable that Preacher Vancroft wouldn’t preside over Altus’s funeral. Altus gave a lot of money to the church. Did you know that? He paid for new hymnals and to have the church painted, inside and out, last spring.”
“You know as well as I do why Vancroft isn’t here.”
“Yes, because he’s a spineless, two-faced coward.”
He angled a glance at her and one corner of his mouth lifted. “Got your dander up there, Miss Payne?”
She gave a “harrumph” and yanked at her shawl. “I won’t enter that church again as long as he is the preacher.” A thought struck her and she stopped, making Callum stop, too. “That’s why you haven’t been to church for a few weeks, isn’t it? Because of Preacher Vancroft siding with the rabble rousers.”
He rubbed his jaw and his eyes twinkled. “Could be. Now let’s get out of this cold wind.”
She spotted Della and her family moving toward a yellow wagon. “You go on. I’ll only be another minute.” Then she marched along the cleared path toward them. “Della!”
The woman stopped and turned. “Hi, there. I was going to say something to you, but this wind is fierce and this here coat of mine is no match for it.”
“I won’t keep you. I just wanted to say hello and ask if you’d come to my home for tea next Sunday. Bring your daughters and mother-in-law, too, if you want.”
“For tea?” She blinked as if confused. “Like a fancy party?”
“No, no. Nothing like that!” Banner sighed. What could she call it? Not a meeting . . . Her gaze fixed on a rip in the sleeve of Della’s coat. “A sewing circle! Bring anything that needs mended and we’ll all pitch in and patch up everything. I’ll prepare something to eat and drink and we’ll make an afternoon of it. Right after church.”
“All? You mean, other women will be there?”
“Yes. Neighbors and friends.” Banner nodded and hoped she was telling the truth. She would extend invitations, but she wasn’t sure others would show up.
Della grinned. “Well, all right then! I’ve never been to such a thing, but we’ll be there! Thanks for asking.”
“Wonderful. See you next Sunday.” She made a shooing motion. “Go on and get out of this cold, quick as you can.” Giving a wave, she pivoted to find Callum right behind her. “Oh! There you are.”
“A sewing circle?”
She fidgeted with her shawl as the wind made her eyes water. “Something wrong with that?”
“Guess not.”
She stamped her feet in agitation and discomfort. “It’s freezing out here. Can we go?”
He made a sweeping motion toward his buggy. “I was waiting for you, Miss Payne.”
Once they were seated, Callum spread a blanket across her lap and tucked it around her hips as a smile played at the corners of his mouth.
“You like to sew?”
“It’s a necessary chore all women share,” she replied. “I thought I would make it less so by inviting some women over for companionship. We don’t
all
prefer to be alone in this world, Callum Latimer.”
He rolled his eyes as he flicked the reins and the buggy lurched forward. “Not that again. Did you see the riders in the distance?”
“No.” She glanced around. “Where?”
“Not here. During the funeral. Two men rode up and stopped out from the cemetery. Close enough to see who was in attendance. They were sizing up their enemies.”
She shivered. “You knew they would be there, didn’t you?”
“I wasn’t surprised.”
“So, attending that funeral worsened your situation.” She heard the tremor in her voice and so did he because his gaze whipped to her and he narrowed his eyes. “I should have come by myself.”
“Let’s get something straight here, Banner.” His expression hardened. “I’m not afraid of those men. I worry that they’ll get careless and hurt someone around me, but I have no problem dealing with them. And I sure as hell don’t give a damn that they saw me at Decker’s funeral. They already know where I stand and it’s not with them.”
Staring at his impassive expression, his eyes glinting with determination, she shook her head in pure admiration. “I can see why you moved up the ranks so fast in the Cavalry. You never learned any ‘retreat’ commands, did you? All you know is to charge, head down, and guns blazing.”
He turned his head away from her to stare at the pasture land stretching toward the gray horizon. “I moved up the ranks because the officers ahead of me were shot out of their saddles and bled to death in fields just like those.” He gave a nod to the snow-dusted land and his voice grew husky. “There is beautiful country out there, Banner. Gurgling streams, mighty waterfalls, hills as green as shamrocks, valleys as deep as oceans, and little towns tucked in among hills and dells that look as sweet and peaceful as a babe in arms. And we left scars all over it.” Turning around to her again, his eyes glimmered with emotion. “Some people will never heal from it. They just don’t have it in them. They’re so full of hate and venom that it’s eating them up from the inside out.”
“You’re not one of them,” she stated.
His face softened. “No. No, I’m not. But I understand them. And I sure as hell never felt like a hero. I felt like a loser, a drifter, a man with no country and no purpose, other than to hold onto a ranch my father clutched at like it was life itself.”
Her heart swelled with admiration for him, but she kept quiet, wanting him to continue. He so rarely talked openly about his feelings and she knew it for what it was – a precious gift that he’d offered to her.
“Lately . . . well, since we struck our partnership, I see things differently.” His green gaze bored into her. “It’s good and it’s bad. I’m not an easy man to be around. I have my demons.”
“Don’t we all?”
“Yes, but I don’t want you to take them on. I understand that you have a tendency to want to nurse people back to health, but I don’t need that, Banner. Not from you.”
The frustration in his tone told her as much as his words did. Banner bumped her shoulder against his. “I don’t want you as my patient, Callum. Your pa is all I can handle as far as that goes. Don’t get me wrong. I
do
care for you and I
do
worry about your safety. Do you object to that, too?”
He glanced up at the sky and gave a little shake of his head. “No, of course not.”
“Good.” She linked her arm with his and snuggled closer to his warmth. “Glad that’s settled.” She listed to the
whisk-whisk
of the buggy wheels on the wet road for a minute before glancing up to find Callum studying her as if he were seeking reassurance. So she gave it to him. “I don’t want to change or repair you. I like you fine just the way you are. As for your demons, you seem to be getting control of them all by yourself.”
He jerked his gaze away from her and took a deep breath. After a minute, he cleared his throat and patted her hand where it rested on his arm. They talked about the weather and the herd the rest of the way home.
The sun made an appearance every day for the next week, thawing the ground so that the cowhands were wading in mud, sometimes up to their knees. During the noon meal, Banner was regaled with tales of mud-stuck cows, calves born into muddy puddles and almost drowned in them, and horses suffering from thrush. They were given a stern lecture from Seth about keeping their horses’ stalls clean and dry to prevent fungus from growing in their mounts’ hooves.
They all worked until the sunset, so Banner only saw Callum for a few minutes here and there. He was usually in the barn seeing to livestock when Hollis arrived to escort her home.
During Friday’s breakfast, the cowhands were still reeling from the day before when they dealt with a heifer who had a mysterious illness.
“I noticed her snorting and wheezing and shaking her head,” Flint said. “But then it seemed like she stopped.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Shane agreed. “She acted normal.”
“Up until yesterday,” Franklin took up the narrative again. “Her nose had ballooned up and she was having trouble breathing. I called the boss over and he took one look and I knew it was serious by the way he scowled.” Franklin grinned down the table at Callum.
“My first thought was that she’d been stung several times by bees or wasp,” Callum said. “But there weren’t any red marks on her. Then they told me she’d been sneezing and heaving.”
“He got down on his knees and peered right up into her nose and said there was something up in there.” Franklin’s grin grew and snickers erupted from the others up and down the long table.
“I thought it was probably caked with mud up in there,” Shane said. “Everything else around here is.”
“Was it mud?” Banner asked, topping off Seth’s second cup of coffee.
“No.” Franklin chuckled. “Seems that she got a branch stuck up her nose.”
“A branch?” Banner repeated, shaking her head. “A whole branch?”
“Well, it was a big twig. From an oak tree, I believe.” Franklin loaded his fork again with fried potatoes. “But it was sprouting up in there.”
“No!” Banner pressed a hand to her throat, wondering if they were joshing her.
“Yep!” Shane smirked, elbowing Hollis on his other side, who was holding a napkin to his mouth to keep from spraying everyone with food as he laughed.
Banner looked at Callum, but couldn’t tell from his taciturn expression if what was being said was true or a tall tale. “A part of a tree? A sprouting twig up a cow’s nose?”
Callum nodded. “I had to ride back here and grab a couple of tools for reaching up in there. The roots had taken hold. Took a while to yank it out and she didn’t like it even a little bit.”
“I bet she was happy once she had that outta her nose,” Seth noted.
“That she was,” Callum agreed. “I think she would have kissed me if she could have figured out a way to pucker.”
“Good lord,” Banner said, laughing and shaking her head in amazement. “The things these animals get themselves into.”
“It’s always something.” Hollis swiped at his mouth and then tucked the napkin around his shirt collar again. “Just when things are going smooth, one or more of them throws a tantrum or does something stupid.”
“Kind of like us,” Flint noted with a soft chuckle, and the others hooted in agreement.
The jovial chatter continued through the rest of the meal. As usual, each of the dozen or so men thanked her for the vittles as they shuffled out. Callum hung back, stepping into the kitchen to join Banner.
“You still having your sewing circle this weekend?”
“I am.” She turned and had to tip back her head to meet his gaze. He was so tall and broad! For a few moments, she fought the urge to run her hands up his chest and across to his wide shoulders. Great galloping ghosts! What was wrong with her? Or
was
it wrong to want to be closer to him more and more?
“Did you invite Lilah or Sadie?”
She blinked once, startled by his question. “Um . . . no.” Tilting her head, she tried to discern any signs of mischief in his verdant green eyes. “I invited some neighbor ladies and Della, her daughters, and Mrs. Bailey.”
“And not Lilah or Sadie?”
“No.” She braced her hands on her hips. “You have something to say about that?”
“They’re neighbors.”
She tapped her shoe on the wood planks and waited him out. Finally, the corners of his mouth twitched. She smiled up at him. “You’re being a devil.”
Spreading a hand across his shirtfront, he feigned surprise. “Me?”
“You.” She flattened her hand against his and gave him a playful push. “However, since Sadie won’t be at the sewing circle, she’ll most likely be home if you want to drop by and share company with her. I know she’d like that.”
“Maybe I will.” His eyes twinkled wickedly.
Banner bit her lower lip as jealousy nearly choked her.
“That wouldn’t trouble you any?” he asked, leaning down a little to get a better look at her face. “You’d be fine with that, would you? You wouldn’t worry about my safety?”
She felt her mouth twist into a rueful smile. “I have no real claim on you, Callum Latimer. You’re a free man who can do as he pleases – and see any lady he pleases.” She was surprised at how hard it was for her to get those words out. Callum cupped her chin and placed his other hand on her hip.
“No claim on me?” he murmured, his eyes growing a dark, dark green. “You don’t believe that any more than I do.”
He kissed her, hard and long, drawing a mewl from her and making her dizzy before he let her go. She sucked in a deep, head-clearing breath and stared up into his desire-filled eyes. That made her dizzy again. She spread her hands across his chest and up to his shoulders just as she’d wanted to do. Pleasure spiraled through her. His fingers skimmed along the side of her neck to the hollow of her throat where a pulse beat rapidly.
“Do you know how beautiful you are, Banner Payne?”
She swallowed and didn’t answer because she didn’t trust her voice.
“Why would I be interested in Sadie when I have you to look at?” He brushed a soft kiss across the tip of her nose and another against her temple. “And you smell good, too.”
She laughed softly as he straightened away from her. From the corner of her eye, she saw the flutter of loose cloth on his sleeve. Pinching the material between her fingers and thumb, she showed him where the cuff was partly torn off.
“Change your shirt and leave this one.” Her voice sounded husky and she cleared her throat. “I’ll mend it Sunday.”
“What will the ladies say about you mending my shirt? Won’t that start tongues to wagging?”
“They’ll just think it belongs to my brother,” she rejoined with a saucy grin.
He shrugged, giving her a dubious look. “I’m broader than Hollis. And more handsome.” He trailed a fingertip down the side of her face. “And if anyone is paying attention – which women tend to do – they already know I’m sweet on you.” Then he sauntered to his bedroom to do her bidding. What’s more, she was pretty sure she heard him chuckling.
###
Closing the rip in Callum’s shirtsleeve, Banner smiled to herself, enjoying the chatter of women seated in her parlor. It had been a lovely afternoon with discussions of child rearing, homemade remedies, cooking tips, and jokes about men and their baffling behavior.
“I’m looking forward to the pie and cake auction that Pastor Vancroft spoke of this morning,” Ann Towbridge said, then she bit off the thread and dropped the mended pair of pants into the pile of clothes at her feet. “Mr. Towbridge wants me to bake a lemon cake for the auction – it’s his favorite – but I’d like to try my hand at a pecan pie. Lemons are too hard to get right now anyway.”
“Even the green grocer’s wife can’t get lemons?” Della asked with a smile.
“Not this time of year and not here.” Ann heaved a sigh. “The railroad is supposed to change that . . . but I don’t think anyone but me and my mister are pining for lemons. I have three dried up ones.” She shrugged. “Maybe I could get enough juice out of them for a cake.”
“I believe I might have a few lemons in our cellar,” Banner said. “Before you leave for home, we’ll take a look.”
Ann beamed. “Why, that’s kind of you. By the way, I didn’t see you in church this morning. Were you too busy preparing for our sewing circle?”
“No.” Banner set the mending aside and looked at the women surrounding her. “I’m not going to attend that church again as long as Pastor Vancroft is there.”
“Why?” Ann asked, her blue eyes rounding.
“Because of Altus Decker’s funeral,” Della spoke up, nodding sagely at Banner. “The pastor refused to preside over his services.”
Ann Towbridge shifted uneasily and glanced at Teresa Combs beside her. Teresa and her husband ran the hotel in town.
“Altus Decker gave a lot of money to the church,” Banner pointed out. “The pastor was glad to take his money and use it for a new roof and hymnals.”
“Why wouldn’t he go to Mr. Decker’s funeral?” Teresa Combs asked.
“Because the pastor is listening to the pack of troublemakers who are poisoning people’s minds with hatred,” Della declared, bold as brass.
“I hear he’s been to all of those meetings, leading them in prayer,” Banner said. “Since they’re preaching that we should hate every Yankee, Indian, and freed slave, Pastor Vancroft couldn’t be seen presiding over Yankee Decker’s last rites.”
Mrs. Bailey had cupped her hand around her good ear to hear the conversation and now she clucked her tongue in reprimand. “Men got us into that hateful war. Wasn’t that enough bloodshed for them? We got to find a way to get along without of all this fussin’ and fightin’.”
“You’re absolutely right there, Mrs. Bailey,” Teresa said. She folded the pinafore dress she’d mended and placed it in her laundry basket. “I’m troubled by what’s going on. What happened to Mr. Decker.” She pressed her fingers to her lips and closed her eyes, giving a shudder. “Horrible.”
“Men in our community did that. Men we know – or think we know.” Time to make her point, Banner thought. Just as she’d rehearsed it in her head. “Ladies, I think it’s high-time we speak up. If you don’t approve of what’s happening and you don’t want to see more hangings and shootings and heaven knows what else, then we need to tell our men that it must stop. Atrocities continue because people allow them to continue.”
“I’ve already told Bob that he’d better not be throwing in with those heathens,” Della said, her eyes snapping with recrimination. “I don’t know about y’all, but we got all we can do just trying to make a good life for us and our children. We don’t need to go about pointing the finger at others and riding around at night scaring folks. Killing people!”
“But what can we really do to stop this?” Ann asked, hands outstretched. “The men won’t listen to us.”
“For one thing, we can do what Banner is doing,” Mrs. Bailey said, her voice loud because of her hearing loss. “Quit going to that church and let everyone know that we don’t approve of our pastor glad-handing men who are preaching hate and killin’!”
“I so enjoy church . . .” Ann chewed on her lip.
“Who presided at his funeral?” Teresa asked.
“The Reverend Saul Beauchamp from the Rugged Cross Baptist Church,” Banner said.
“But . . .isn’t that church . . . I mean to say . . .” Ann pressed her lips together.
“Rev. Beauchamp is a freed slave,” Banner said with a sigh. “I believe his congregation is mostly Negros. But he preached a lovely service. I told him I might visit his church and he said I would be welcome there.”
“Oh, my!” Ann’s gaze darted from face to face. “Well, that is good of him, but I don’t . . . I couldn’t go to that church.”
“No one has asked you to,” Teresa said, smoothly, giving Ann a quick, tart smile. “Relax, Ann. Don’t fray your nerves.” She looked at Mrs. Bailey and raised her voice. “I think you’re right, Mrs. Bailey. I won’t attend church or the pie and cake auction and I’ll let everyone who asks know why.” She arched her brows. “I don’t associate with those who consort with murderers.”
“What do the Latimers say about all of this?” Ann asked.
“Callum and his father are dead-set against vigilante justice. As am I.” Banner squared her shoulders. “I do believe we can make a difference, ladies.”
“Is that why you invited us here today?” Teresa smiled, cunning as a fox.
“That and the pleasure of your company,” Banner confessed. “And to get some sewing done while I get to know my neighbors better. I should have invited you before, but I . . . well, I didn’t think you would want to come.”
Teresa looked down at the sewing in embarrassment. “Truthfully, there was a time when I wouldn’t have accepted your invitation,” she said in a near whisper as if the words were difficult for her to speak.
“Not me.” Della set her lips in a stubborn line. “Never was a time when I wouldn’t have been plumb tickled to pay you a visit, Banner Payne.”
Banner beamed at Della. “I admire you, Della. In fact, I hope to become more like you.”
“Me?” Della spread a hand at the base of her throat and her eyes widened in surprise. “Why, that’s sweet of you.”