The Promise of Morning (5 page)

The front door of the hotel opened as they turned south on the stage road toward Arthur and Ruby Newberry’s farm. An unfamiliar voice boomed through the crisp air.

“That you, Reverend?” Marcus Beldon walked to the edge of the porch, dressed in a fur-collared black overcoat. The bulky knee-length garment made him look like a bear standing on hind legs.

Pleased to have another delay, Matthew reined the horse to a stop. “Morning, Mr. Beldon. You’re out early.” Even at a distance he could sense the power in the big man.

Beldon tipped his beaver hat. “Mrs. Craig. This cold air has put roses in your cheeks.”

“It’s cold indeed. Surely you’d be more comfortable indoors next to the fire.”

“That I would.” A bland smile rested on his lips. “But I saw you folks pass by a few minutes ago and wanted to have a word with your husband.”

Ellie poked Matthew in the ribs. “Stop dallying,” she said under her breath.

Marcus Beldon faced Matthew. “I hope you can make time in the next few days to meet with me. I have some questions.” He paused. “About the community. I’m sure you know most of what goes on around here.”

Matthew nodded. “I’d be pleased to do that. Where do you suggest?”

“Why not right here?” Beldon gestured at the building behind him. “There are two fairly comfortable parlors off the reception room.”

“I’ll be back later in the week. I’ll see you then.”

Beldon pulled his hands from his pockets and rubbed them together. “Excellent. I will make it a point to be available.”

Matthew pushed down a surge of irritation at the man’s condescending tone. What could Beldon want from him that he couldn’t learn just as easily from the hotelkeeper?

Ellie nudged him again.

“If you’ll excuse us?” Matthew lifted the reins. “I want to get the baby out of the cold.”

“But of course.” Beldon raised his hat. “Mrs. Craig. A pleasure to see you.”

Ellie nodded, but anything she might have said was buried in the rattle of the harness as Matthew urged Samson toward Arthur and Ruby’s farm. The horse’s hooves tossed up chunks of muddy ice, splattering the front panel of their wagon.

Ellie snugged the lap robe around herself and Julia. “I’m worried about what to say to them. Did you bring the letter?”

“Certainly did.” Matthew touched the front of his thick woolen coat. “Right here in my pocket.” He patted her knee. “I’m worried too. I switch between anger and puzzlement.” They rode in silence for a few moments. “Perhaps there’s a good explanation.” He couldn’t imagine what it might be, but he could hope.

Once past Ben Wolcott’s land, Matthew slowed the wagon and turned onto the lane that led to the Newberrys’. Shifting Julia on her lap, Ellie reached out and gripped his hand. He felt her fingers tremble. “Do you want to go home?” he asked. “I can talk to them.”

She straightened. “No. This is something I must do.”

The wagon rolled around to the rear of the tidy whitewashed house. Bleached linen curtains at the kitchen window were drawn open, revealing Ruby’s back as she stood at the stove.

According to their custom, Matthew tapped on the back door, opening it at the same time. A cloud of soapy-smelling steam enveloped them when they walked inside.

Ruby turned from the wash boiler, eyes wide. “Matthew. Ellie.” She looked at her niece. “It’s Monday. Why aren’t you home tending to your family’s washing?”

“We have something that couldn’t wait.”

Ruby hurried over. “Well, take off your things and sit down.” She took Julia from Ellie’s arms. “Yesterday you were worried that she’d take a chill sitting in your kitchen, and now you’re out running her around the countryside in the cold. Her little cheeks are like ice.” She moved a chair close to the stove and settled the baby on her lap.

Ellie glanced at Matthew and held out her hand. Without a word, Matthew reached into his pocket and gave her the letter.

“What?” A puzzled expression crossed Ruby’s face.

“We got a letter from your pa,” Matthew said.

“Forevermore! He never wrote me. Why’d he send you a letter?”

Ellie removed Julia from Ruby’s lap and handed her the folded pages. “Read it.”

The only sound in the kitchen was an occasional hiss as water condensed under the lid of the copper boiler and dripped onto the stove top. The flush in Ruby’s cheeks deepened as she read. When she turned to the second page, her eyes widened and she pressed her fingers over her mouth. After a moment, she refolded the letter and returned it to Matthew with shaking fingers. Her gaze slid to Ellie and then quickly moved away. Silence hung in the air.

“Well?” Ellie asked. “He’s writing about my father, isn’t he?” Her voice rose. “All these years you’ve let me believe he was dead and he wasn’t. I could’ve seen him, known him, but you kept me from it.” Julia started to whimper and Ellie thrust her at Matthew, then faced Ruby. “Why?”

Ruby stood and extended her arms. “I can explain. You need to understand how things were.”

Ellie took a step back. “I understand that you and Uncle Arthur have lied to me. How can you expect me to believe you now?”

Footsteps sounded from the front of the house. Arthur entered and flicked an apprehensive glance around the room. “What’s all the shouting about?” He directed the question at Matthew, one man to another, rather than seeking a reply from his wife or niece.

Ruby raised her head. Defeat wrote itself across her features. “She knows about George. Pa wrote them a letter.”

“Your brother’s in Texas. After all this time, why would your pa write them about that?” Arthur stepped between Ruby and Ellie. Lowering his voice, he said, “I thought no one would mention George. That was the agreement.”

“He’s dead. He died last December.” Ruby pointed at the letter dangling from Matthew’s fingers. “Pa seems to think there may be an inheritance concerning the land down there—that’s why he wrote.”

“That’d be your pa. If it comes to money, he’ll stir hisself.” Arthur tugged at his short white beard, then glanced at Ellie. “For your sake, I hope it’s not another of his harebrained—”

“We didn’t come here about money.” Ellie snatched the sheets of paper from Matthew’s hand, wadded them into a ball, and threw them at Ruby’s feet. “Let Grandpa Long have whatever’s down there. I don’t want it.” She glared at her aunt. “We’re here this morning because you lied to me.”

Matthew stood Julia on the floor and slipped an arm around Ellie. “She trusted your word. Can you imagine what a shock this is to her? To us?”

Arthur’s face lost its usual benevolent expression. “Yes. I can.” He laid a hand on Matthew’s arm. “Sit down.” He pointed at the wooden table in the center of the room. “Ruby, pour us some of that coffee. We have a story to tell.”

Keeping his arm around Ellie’s shoulders, Matthew led her to a chair. They watched in silence while Ruby took four pewter mugs from a shelf and filled them. After placing them on the table, she sank into a chair next to Arthur. Tears welled in her eyes.

He nudged her side. “You tell them.”

“Well, after your ma died—”

“Did she really? Or is this another untruth?” Suspicion cut through Ellie’s words.

“She did. You were about three, going on four. Anyway, your pa was sore upset. We could see he wasn’t taking good care of you.” Ruby’s lower lip trembled and she turned to Arthur. “You tell her.” “He was letting you wander loose,” he said. “It was wintertime, and sometimes you wasn’t even wearing a wrap. You’d come to our cabin, hungry, wanting something to eat. Things went on like that for a spell.” Something in the memory caused him to smile briefly, then the smile disappeared.

Ruby picked up the narration. “We didn’t mind looking after you. Most of my brothers and sisters had young’uns of their own and Arthur and me didn’t. Come spring of ’twenty-one, some men rode through full of big news about this fellow Stephen Austin getting a contract from the Mexicans to settle three hundred families down there in Spanish Texas. Nothing would do but that your pa had to go with them—”

Arthur broke in. “You can imagine we tried to talk him out of it. I mean, living under foreign rule? Hadn’t even been fifty years since their pa fought in the war against England, and now here was George throwing away his independence. I tell you, Pa Long was dead set against the whole plan.”

Ellie folded her arms over her chest and looked across the table at her aunt and uncle. “This is interesting, but I don’t see any reason not to tell me about him from the beginning.” She pushed back her chair. “I don’t even know if this is a fact, or something else you’re making up.”

Matthew hoisted Julia onto his lap where she babbled and grabbed for his coffee. “Let’s hear them out.” He pushed the mug out of Julia’s reach and quirked an eyebrow at Ruby. “Go ahead. Tell us the rest.”

“I just need for her to get a picture of what it was like in those days.” Ruby gazed at her niece. “Your pa said he’d go down there, get himself a land grant, then come back for you. We doubted it, seeing as how he wasn’t doing much of a job of looking after you as it was. But when spring wore on, he packed up your things and brought you to us. Said it’d only be for a year or so.”

Ellie leaned forward, shoulders hunched, head down.

“My pa, your Grandpa Long, raved and threatened, but off George went. Time went on. Months. Then a year. Nary a word. We thought, ‘Well, no sense bothering the child with all this. We’ll just tell her he died.’ For all we knew, it was the truth.”

Ellie made a small whimpering sound. Matthew slipped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. Part of him could understand the reasoning behind letting Ellie believe her father had died, but he’d seen, as Ruby and Arthur had not, the tears she’d shed after reading the letter. It was bad enough knowing she’d been given away. Learning that her father had been alive for many years and never returned for her doubled the pain.

Arthur scraped his chair away from the table and stood. “Don’t say ‘we.’ I told you from the beginning that we should be honest with her. Now see what it’s come to?”

Ruby looked from Arthur to her niece. “It seemed best at the time.” Her eyes pleaded for understanding. “I never meant to hurt you.”

Water drops on the stove hissed in the quiet room.

Finally Ellie drew a deep breath. “It doesn’t matter now whose idea it was.” Tears spilled from her eyes. “What I don’t understand is how could he walk away from his own child?”

5

Ellie wrung her mop over a pail of lye solution and scrubbed at grease spots in front of the cook stove. Physical activity helped work off the anger and hurt that accompanied her waking hours. Over the past five days she’d dusted each room, even the seldom-used parlor, taken down and washed the kitchen curtains, and hauled ashes out of all the fireplaces.

In spite of her resolution not to, she walked to the kitchen window and peered down the lane to see if her aunt and uncle might be coming toward the house. They weren’t.

Ellie’s mind churned with questions about her father. Nobody would talk about him when she was a child. What did his voice sound like? Was he tall and burly, like Uncle Luke? Or skinny, like Uncle Elwood? She plunged the mop back into the bucket with more force than necessary, splashing the hem of her apron. Ellie eyed the watery evidence of her afternoon’s labors, and sighed. Now she’d never have answers.

She gazed out at the lane again. Matthew passed by, driving his team of Belgians harnessed to the box wagon he used for spreading manure. His return signaled suppertime. She hurried out the back door and emptied the bucket beside the steps. Then, drying her chapped hands on her apron, she ran up the stairs to check on Julia.

The baby’s cheeks were pink with sleep when she rolled over and sat up in her crib. Ellie’s heart lifted at the sight of Julia’s radiant smile. “Mama’s here.” She swung her in the air, kissed her, then laid her on the bed to change her diaper. After dropping a fresh gown over Julia’s head, Ellie carried her to a low chair next to the bedroom fireplace. Once settled she unbuttoned her bodice. “Let’s get you fed before Papa comes in for supper.”

While Julia nursed, Ellie watched the glowing coals. A single tongue of flame rose and bobbed from side to side, as though scouting for companions. Her mind jumped to her father’s life in Texas. Did he regret leaving her? Was he lonely?

Then a new thought intruded. Maybe he remarried. Eyes wide, she stared unseeing at the flame. She could have brothers and sisters.