Hope Reborn (14 page)

The beautiful spot oozed tranquility.

He pointed toward a stone bench a few feet from the water’s edge. “Care to sit a spell?” He extended his hand.

Taking it, she eased down. “This is an amazing place.” She glanced around. Another lane ran off to the north which divided the horse pasture with what looked to be a bigger one.

She loved the fence built from tree posts, some crooked, the perfect rustic touch to separate the fields. White pickets were the norm in Virginia, and New York’s were usually of black metal.

She nodded toward the pastures. “Your fencing is just right. I even like the posts’ crookedness. What kind of wood are they?”

“Bois d’arc.”

“I’ve never seen it before. This property truly is a special place.”

He sat on the opposite end as far away from her as he could. Such a gentleman. “Thank you, ma’am. Levi and I spent a lot of time on the fence and this pool; we finished building this bench right before we left for San Jacinto.”

“Isn’t that the place where you Texians beat the Mexicans and won your independence?’

“Yes, ma’am. General Santa Anna got his due there. The victory didn’t take long.”

“Mary Rachel said you were a colonel.”

“Yes, ma’am. I served with Sam Houston in New Orleans. He needed someone so.…”

“You’re as bad as Chester. There’s no need to ma’am me so much.” She loved how the man didn’t brag on himself. “So, is Colonel above Commodore?”

“The ma’aming’s a habit. Mother always said it never hurt to show another human being respect.” He thought for a moment. “Colonel isn’t really above Commodore. Different services. Why? You know a Commodore who needs some bossing?”

Father died on her lips, she didn’t want to lie to the man, but could she trust him with her truth? Chester would skin her alive if he knew she even contemplated telling. And why would she?

“Henry?” He made her believe she could tell him anything, comfortable and safe. “Have you ever had a deep dark secret? One that might actually hurt you bad and change your life for the worse if it became known?”

He looked off for a few beats of her heart; she loved the lines in his face and imagined each was hard won. She never should have asked him such a personal question.

Goodness gracious. What would he think? She hadn’t meant to pry, the question actually aimed more at revelation—hers.

Could she trust him? Everything in her screamed yes, but she hardly knew the man. What was it about him that gave her the idea her secret would be secure in his keeping?

Certainly, it would be a wonderful thing for someone to know, and if she did get serious with this man….

“Well, if I decide to run for governor, my secret would hurt me.”

If he ran, he’d make a great governor. Tiny butterflies fluttered in her tummy. She would love being the wife of a governor. At least he hadn’t said it wasn’t any of her business.

“Can I trust you, Henry? Are you a man who can guard a secret under all occasions?”

“Yes, ma’am. Are you a lady who can do the same?”

A part of her wanted to change the subject, but the bigger part wanted to bare her soul, let this man into her secret place, the place where even Chester never got to go.

“I can.” She extended her hand. “If what I’m about to disclose ever got out, it could bring great harm to me.”

Looking away, she studied the perfect reflection on the water’s surface and her own insides stilled, as the water. “Chester would go mad if he knew I even considered revealing our deep dark secret to you.”

She faced him again. “It’s his secret, too.”

“May, you can certainly trust me, but there’s nothing to compel you to tell me anything if you’re uncomfortable.”

“I know, but it seems so right, here, in this place.”

A study of his face convinced her she could believe. Every fiber of her being told her that she could, should share it. He really was a man to be trusted. But….

She lightly rubbed his finger with her thumb. “Henry.” Tears welled.

An urge to run flooded her soul, but her feet remained steadfast, planted in this lovely safe haven. She wanted a man like this one, longed for someone who could see the real May and still love her.

He squeezed her fingers ever so gently. A spark ran from his hand to hers and on to her heart. The butterflies fluttered more frantically, demanding freedom. She looked into his eyes.

He seemed to search hers. “My parents were never married, May.”

She focused on his words. “Oh?” She let her lips spread a bit. “What a coincidence, neither were mine.”

He returned her smile with a real one. “Doesn’t sound too bad, once you say it out loud. Who’d guess we had that secret in common? ”

“It gets worse for me.”

“How’s that?”

“It’s Chester. You see, he’s my brother. Truth be known, I’m nothing more than a runaway slave.” Had she really told him that? Had the words come out of her mouth?

He wasn’t hightailing it for the nearest sheriff. Would he hate her now?

He shook his head. “Not in my book, no ma’am, no way.”

“Well, by law, I should never have inherited Sea Side—it belonged to the commodore—or even any of my mother’s fortune, that by the way, I either mismanaged or gambled away.

“And if my pure white cousins were ever to learn the truth, that the commodore wasn’t my real father, then I’d owe all the coin I’ve earned scribbling love stories to them. And all the slaves I set free, including my brother, would belong to them as well.

“And so would I.”

Labeling Chester as kin caused an unexpected thrill in her chest.

“I for sure will not breathe a word to anyone, especially your brother.” He patted her hand. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“And there’s something else I want to tell you.” She gasped at her own words and pulled her hand from his to stay her wildly beating heart. “I don’t know why… Can’t imagine what… Something has definitely come over me.” She searched his eyes. “Have you cast some spell?”

He laughed. “No, ma’am. Never. I suppose you’ve needed, deep in your heart, to stop lying about who you really are and let the light in.”

She smiled, encouraged and emboldened by his understanding. “Well, actually, two things.”

What had she done? May jumped to her feet and walked toward the water. What was she doing?

“May.”

She turned around, and he wore the cutest little boy grin she’d ever seen on a grown man. She wanted to scoop him up and tousle his hair—or worse. Though she barely knew the man, she’d gone and let him into that darkest place where even she and Chester didn’t go, never talked about.

“Who are you, Henry Buckmeyer? How can you be doing this to me? I want to tell you my whole life, and I’ve never wanted to do that before. Not to anyone.”

He stepped closer, but stayed back a respectable distance. “I’m…” He closed his eyes, and his lips thinned into a serious expression as though he was about to bear his soul.

“I’m a man who thought his life was over. I lost my love, and never expected I’d find another.” He filled his lungs.

“May, when you walked into the Donoho’s dining room, I couldn’t believe it. I’ve carried such a wound in my heart that had scarred over, but still ached sorely. At the mere sight of you, it vanished, suddenly healed.”

He eased closer and held his hand out. “Does that make sense? I know I’m old enough to be your father, but.…”

She took his hand, smiling. “No, you are not. Where in the world did you get that idea? How old do you think I am?”

He leaned back a bit and grimaced like she might throw something at him if he got it wrong. “Thirty-three.”

She laughed. “Goodness gracious. You are so kind, but no, I’m forty-one. And how old are you?”

“Well then. That isn’t so bad. I’m fifty-two. I thought I was being a silly old man thinking of cradle robbing.”

“Hardly.” She pulled him back to the bench. “I certainly was not planning on telling you my age, but I guess as long as you know my secrets, you might as well know that, too. And probably my real name.”

“You’re not May Meriwether? It’s a pseudonym?”

“No. Well, yes. But May is my middle name.” She wiggled her pointer finger. “First you have to promise you’ll never use it. Without your word, I’ll never tell.”

“I promise.”

“Lean over so I can whisper it in your ear this one time.” She cupped her hands and whispered. “Millicent.”

He leaned back and stared at her. “Mercy, that’s a beautiful name.”

“Think about it. Millie May?”

He laughed. “Same reason I go by Henry—my middle name. Patrick’s fine, but I hate Patty, and….” He pointed his finger at her. “Actually, it was your and Chester’s daddy who started calling me that. Referred to me as Patty Boy or Patty Cake. Silas loved teasing me.”

She nodded. “He got that from the commodore, the man was…well…at times cruel. And that isn’t a strong enough word.”

“Who is the commodore?”

“The man I thought was my father, but in reality? My grandfather.” She heard the words coming out of her mouth, but if some idiot would have wagered that she’d come to Texas and bare her soul to a complete stranger, she would have given the man ten-thousand-to-one odds.

She looked away. This was just not right. He would break her heart like every other smooth-talking, good-looking fellow who came down the road. Once he got to know the real her, he….

“May?”

She turned back. “What?” The tone in her voice shocked her. Was she trying to pick a fight?

“I’m sorry he hurt you so bad; if I’d been there, I would have stopped him.”

She snorted a little chuckle. “No, you’d have been nineteen, a mere child, and he was the most….” She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth.

Oh, how she hated talking about him, thinking about him. What a horrible tangled mess he made of her life.

Henry stepped closer and took her hands. “Look at me.”

She raised her eyes.

“Yes, I would have.”

“You can’t say that.”

“When I was fifteen, I beat a man to death with my bare hands. I’ve killed ten men that I know of. The last one, only a year ago; some no good renegades tried to steal Rose and Charley. Levi and Wallace were gone.”

Though nodding, he steeled his tone to a hardness she’d never heard come out of another man’s mouth before. “Nothing—and I mean absolutely nothing—will ever hurt you again as long as you are with me.”

A chill ran up her spine, swirled around her heart, then settled over her like a warm blanket on a cool night. How did he know? Did he know? Was he some backwoods shaman, or had Chester spilled his guts?

Total lack of discernment around this man worried her; she always kept her wits about her in the past.

“You just never stop. Amazing me, that is. Who are you, Henry? How is it that I believe every word that comes out of your mouth?”

“It isn’t me, sweet May. The Lord saved me and helped me to become the man I am. It’s by His Divine Providence that you came all the way to Texas. He brought you into my life.”

She shook her head. “No, please don’t say that. It can’t be true.”

Backing away made no sense when she wanted the man more than any other she’d ever known. But why had he brought his religion into the mix? Her heart thundered in her chest.

How could she ever love someone who believed in a fictitious man-upstairs who took credit for everything the man did? A single tear made its way down her cheek. She turned back and met his eyes.

“Please keep my secrets.”

“Of course.”

She nodded then turned and ran toward the house.

Henry wanted to run after her, but his feet refused to obey his heart.

“Oh, Lord, soften her heart toward You.”

Tears flooded, but he blinked them away. He’d waited years for the right time with Sue. With May, he’d wait how ever long it took, but of one thing, he had no doubts in his heart of hearts.

Millicent May Meriwether would one day be his wife. His second—and last—soul mate.

“Thank you, Lord, for bringing her to me.”

The barn came into view, and May slowed to a fast walk. Sweat stung her eyes. She was positive the dress was ruined. How could anyone live in this heat? She stopped.

The little girl in her, the one who always ran away anytime a man got too close, wanted to keep going, find Chester, and have him take her all the way back to New York.

But she didn’t run, she turned around. What she wanted—really wanted—strolled toward her. Of their own, her feet put one in front of the other. Then another urge almost overwhelmed, well, the same but different.

That time, she wanted to run toward him, embrace him, and let him hold her and keep her safe forever like he promised. It was almost more than she could bear, but the little girl wouldn’t have it.

She found a spot ten paces from him and anchored. “So, you’re not perfect after all.”

“Never claimed to be.”

“Besides being a murderer, what else should I know about you?” He stepped closer. She held her hands up. “Please don’t.”

He laughed. “Fine, I’ll stay right here. Now let me see.” He held his hands out and gave her a little shrug. “I speak my mind at times when I shouldn’t, but you saw that Sunday.

“And well, Mary Rachel thinks I spoil the babies, but I treat them the same as I treated her and Rebecca. Those two grew up to be wonderful young ladies.” He shook his head. “I learned a long time ago to be true to myself. I’ve been working on my faults forever.”

She simply loved being around him. A peace settled over her soul. How was that possible? Almost as if his strength radiated from him. “You are for real, aren’t you?” She wiped her brow and glanced at the sun in the azure blue sky then came back to those same color eyes. “Am I really standing here in this Texas heat?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He held his hand out. “Touch me. You’ll see I’m real.”

She shook her head. She dared not. “Awhile ago, I said there’s two things I needed to tell you.”

“Yes, your real name and age; was there something else?”

She backed away a step. It took all the little girl in her to keep from throwing herself into his arms. “Yes, I’m afraid so. Except, well, uh, it isn’t a bad thing, quite the contrary, but, uh, I might as well just say it. I’m a virgin, Henry.”

His lips spread into a grin so wide she wasn’t sure his cheeks could stand it. “Not a bad thing? Why, that’s a wonderful thing, that’s excellent. I thought it was something horrible.”

“Well, I am a bit of a horrible shrew, too, stubborn and cantankerous, demanding, spoiled—although that isn’t entirely my fault. Just ask Chester. He’s been the only man who could put up with me over all these years.”

She tore her eyes from his and stared at the ground. “I’m most assuredly not a prize. I know that.” She shook her head and looked back up. “What do you see in me, Henry?

“You’re so wonderful that even if you’ve killed a hundred men, whoever knows you would know you had a good reason and were innocent of murder. Otherwise, you’d be in jail, right?”

“Long story. Care to join me? Mosey on back to the bench, and its shade to hear it? This sun is liable to cook us both.” He took off his hat and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. “Believe me, you’re perfectly safe with me. Holding your hand is as much as I will allow.” He offered his.

Could it be true? Everything seemed so right, her heart so safe in the man’s presence. She stepped closer and slipped hers into his then strolled back to the bench by his side.

The luxury of the pine’s shade offered at least fifteen degrees off the scorching temperature. She sat. “So you’ve killed ten men, but I know you’re not a murderer.”

“That’s right. The first one was on my fifteenth birthday. Like the fool I was back then, I slipped off to the local pub to celebrate with a couple of jars of beer. Two lumberjacks who knew about me and my mother came in.”

He shrugged. “The man started in on me, being loud and obnoxious. Saying he was my father, and wouldn’t shut his mouth.

“I tried to leave but he caught me at the door and slapped the back of my head. I told him to not hit me again, and he slapped my face.” Henry filled his lungs then let it out slow as though trying to exhale the memory.

“I hit him then kept on pounding my fist into his face. Even after his buddy jumped in, I wouldn’t or couldn’t stop. The judge ruled self defense. Even the other loggers knew the man was trouble and didn’t make a fuss. Anyway, that was the first.”