Hope Reborn (25 page)

Good thing Chester kept plenty of ink, parchment, and quills. But why wouldn’t he? Her stories and his astute money management had kept them both from hard labor.

That evening she invited him and Mammy out on the porch for a nightcap. Halfway through her new favorite drink, she rocked out and stopped. “Think we’ve got enough gold coin to buy back Sea Side?”

“No.”

“How much more do we need? And is there a deadline on our option?”

Her brother looked off, sipped his drink, then turned back. But he didn’t answer, only shook his head.

“What’s wrong, Chester?”

“We don’t have an option, and last I heard, Sea Side isn’t for sale.”

“Then why did you tell me we did?”

“You were.…” He shrugged.

“What, what was I?”

Mammy stood. “I best go see to my babies.”

May waited until the footfalls died then glared at her brother. “Why did you lie to me, Chester?’

“I didn’t lie. I just didn’t tell you everything. We didn’t have two coins to rub together. If you’ll remember, you gambled away all the money we got from selling Sea Side.”

“That couldn’t have made a difference.”

“Oh, it couldn’t? Didn’t you ever wonder how we lived that year before I sold your first novel?”

Could she remember? Had she wondered?

“I don’t know. We were living in that horrible little loft, and you were gone most days. I suppose I thought you might be working. So tell me anyway. How did we live?”

“I sold the option.”

“You what? But it wasn’t yours to sell. I’m the one who.…” An ugly thought danced across her heart. She really shouldn’t have inherited Sea Side either. “I’m sorry. You’ve taken such good care of me all these years. Don’t you want to get Sea Side back?”

He chuckled. “Wouldn’t that be something? But no, not really. Texas isn’t bad, nothing like the deep south. A freeman of color couldn’t make it there, but I like it fine right here.”

“You and Mammy jumping the broom?” She tried to keep a straight face, but the grin had its way with her lips.

“No, we’ll be married in a church—just like you and Mister Henry once you come to your senses.”

“I don’t know about that, but what I do know is that I do definitely want Sea Side back.”

“Why in the world, Millicent May Meriwether?”

“I want to burn his grand house to the ground with his bones in it.”

“Oh, baby girl, don’t be thinking that. ‘Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord.’”

She stood, gulped down the last of her drink and handed the cup to Chester. “I hear the words, but they don’t work for me. I’m sorry, but laying it all off on some imaginary deity to settle all scores at some distant point in the future is not logical.”

“May –”

“No.” She shook her head. “I want to wipe the slate clean with Commodore Meriwether, and burning his pride and joy to the ground with his remains in it would be pure poetic justice. Why should God care anyway?”

“Uncle, wake up.”

Henry forced his left eye to open. It only managed half staff. Levi stood by his bed, holding a steaming cup of coffee. “Mercy, son, what time is it?” He scooted up and reached for the offering.

His arm screamed no, but he ignored the protest.

“A bit after ten.”

“Wednesday, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

He took a sip. “We still making good time?”

Levi grinned. “Yes, sir.” He nodded toward the door. “Might want to visit the water closet, sir. They’ll be here with your bath shortly.”

“Bath?”

“Yes, sir. Then the barber. And I even found a doctor on board. Maybe he can do something about that eye.”

“Do I look that bad?”

“Afraid so. One look and the ladies will run the other direction.”

Henry knew better, but a hot bath did sound good. “No breakfast in bed?”

“No, sir, but I can get that if you want.”

He waved him out then forced his body to roll out of the sack. Everything but his toenails hurt. They probably did, too, and just couldn’t scream loud enough for him to notice.

Mercy, Lord, give me the wisdom to never get into another fight in all my born days. I’m getting too old.

An image of May danced across his heart, and for a brief respite, his aches and pains stepped back and let his new love fill his soul. Not too old to hold that beautiful woman.

He chuckled at himself.

Dear Lord, soften her heart, draw her to you.

A peace settled over him. Soon, real soon, she would accept the Lord’s salvation.

Soaking in the hot water helped some, actually more than he anticipated, but the doctor didn’t offer much, other than clean bandages and a better wrap job on his broken ribs.

A nice enough man, seemed to know his business—not that Henry had used many healers in the past.

The new side-wheel E. D. White made good time from New Orleans to Jefferson, but apparently a little too quick to do much mending. Then Henry had no choice but to leave the comfort of the steamboat for the stage. Each bump and sway inflicted more pain, but no matter how much the other three tried, he refused to stop.

Wouldn’t hear of laying over for even a night, much less a few days. He wanted to be home, in his bed.

And more than even his babies, he wanted to see May. A fever burned in his chest, but he could make it home. He’d take it easy and recuperate there. Home where his heart was, May held it in her own.

A black wall of clouds blew closer. Lightning danced a prelude to its booming thunder that rolled in Thursday evening, the tenth day he’d been gone. May watched the show from the front porch. At first, it only sprinkled.

The welcomed cool breeze reminded her of a spring shower in Central Park. Then someone opened the spigot, and the deluge pounded the earth, turned the children’s marble ring into black mud.

She hurried to Henry’s office. The sight of the growing stack of pages pleased her some, but would he like them? Had she captured the real Sue? Could she ever?

Seemed to May the lady he remembered was way too perfect. A heroine needed faults for readers to be able to identify with her.…

For certain she didn’t have to rely on his memory to know how beautiful Sue had been. One look at Rebecca told that tale.

Boiling thunder rumbled the prairie and shook the house. The door burst open. Houston raced through the library all the way to his father’s bed with Bonnie hot on his heels.

“Hey, you two, I’m out here.”

“You need to be in here with us. Come on to bed now!” Houston’s normal tenor pierced her nerves, sounding at least an octave higher, though it held no terror.

Got her to thinking though; perhaps the two littlest Buckmeyers enjoyed using storms for their own purposes. Well, she could play that game.

Soon the tickling turned into “Tell us a story, Mama.” Neither added a May behind, and she loved that. Would the other children readily accept her as their mother?

Even though the oldest, Mary Rachel genuinely liked her, maybe even loved.... Gwendolyn bared her heart at every opportunity. May smiled, shouldn’t be too hard to win her over.

Seemed Cecelia might be her hard case. That she ran to tattle on May for sitting her daddy’s rocker proved troubling, but to her way of thinking, the girl displayed a deep longing for something missing in her life.

Could it be she wanted a mother more than all the rest? And if that were the case, would she allow May to fill that empty hole in her heart?

She sat up and snuggled Houston on her right with his sister on the left. “Once upon a time.” She started as most children’s stories did, but decided to make it about the children. “Bonnie and Houston hid under the porch.”

Bonnie sat up, her mouth gaped open. “Us? Me and my brother? You going to tell a story about us?”

“Is that fine?”

“Yes, ma’am. We’ll like it.” Houston elbowed her. “How about when the Comanche attacked, but instead of Charley, make me the one that plugs the last one.”

“No.” Bonnie reached for her brother, fingers poised to pinch, but the boy dodged her little claw. “I don’t want any Indians in our story.”

He shot her his wrinkled-up face, but didn’t argue.

“I was thinking a mystery. Say, while you two are under the porch you find something.”

“A treasure chest! Can it be pirates’ booty? I love them one-eyed guys.”

“Yeah, I like swashbucklers, too. A little. Lots better than Indians anyway. Besides, they’re probably long gone and forgot all about the jewels they buried under our porch. Can there be jewels, Mama? I love emeralds!”

For the next few minutes, while the storm raged outside, May spun a lively yarn about buried treasure under the porch. Even worked Newly Blue in. The children laughed at her name for him.

But once the rain softened, she slowed and lowered her voice. The story dulled a bit, and soon both her babies made happy little sleep sounds cuddled tight against her.

Nestling between them with a hand on each precious child, she thought of all the time she’d wasted. She loved the role motherhood afforded. And they enjoyed her story, too. Pirates indeed.

Sure, it had some holes that needed work, but maybe she’d try her hand spinning a few yarns for the younger set.

Perhaps Chester could drum up some interest from her publisher, or one of the other houses if he found a better deal on The Granger. Who knew? She sure didn’t.

To her, publishing remained a mystery. Hopefully she would need a rather large cache of children’s stories once she and her babies’ father were married.

Babies. That night she dreamed of the little ones; Henry’s brood, and one of her own. A shout pulled her out of her dream. What was that? She sat up. Who was it? The children snoozed on.

The commotion came from out front. Men hollering, horses snorting. She jumped up and threw her house coat on.

Should she take the pistol?

No, Wallace had taken that back.

She found the matches, lit the lamp, then headed toward the front door.

One voice sounded familiar. Was that Henry? Could it be? Had they traveled through that awful storm?

Just outside the library, the man stumbled toward her with an arm over Levi and Jean Paul’s shoulders; all three dripping wet. A fourth man, had to be Mammy’s brother, hung back, looking lost.

“Henry! What in the world?”

The man grimaced. “Sore ribs, my bed clear?”

“The little ones are in there. Bonnie and Houston.” She turned, hurried back to his bedroom, and pulled Bonnie up into her arms. The girl blinked a few times then laid her head on May’s shoulder.

The littlest Buckmeyer slept on the far side and didn’t budge. She hurried to get out of the way.

The men eased Henry to the chair by the bed then gently lowered him into it. His face, still swollen and discolored with dark purple and blue bruises, hurt her heart.

“What happened?”

Levi ignored her, and went to pulling off Henry’s muddy boots.

Petticoats rustled. “Lord, have mercy. Oh, Mister Henry, what have you gone and done?” Mammy pulled Jean Paul back and leaned in. “Brother said you had to fight Mister Bull, is that right?”

He nodded.

She stood up. “Jean Paul, gets little Houston and carry him upstairs, and the rest of you scat. Let me help Mister Henry into some dry clothes and to bed.”

May hated leaving, but it wouldn’t be proper for her to undress him, and she didn’t know anything about doctoring. Out in the hall, Rebecca took Bonnie, who still hadn’t awakened.

Once the two little ones were back in their own rooms, the adults congregated in the kitchen.

Someone, probably Chester, had already kindled a fire in the stove and put a pot of coffee on. At the far end of the table next to Jean Paul, his uncle stared at a spot right in front of him.

Poor man probably blamed himself. He couldn’t know Henry would have moved heaven and earth to set the slave free—for Mammy’s sake alone.

Soon as he came down all changed and dry, Rose snuggled next to Levi with what looked like a mixture of relief and concern. No one spoke, not even the normally talkative Wallace Rusk.

Before the coffee boiled, Mammy hustled into the room. “Mister Henry has got hisself three broke ribs.”

May winced. “Oh, my goodness, but he’ll heal all right?”

Ignoring her question, the old cook glared at Levi then her son. “You two should have hog tied him and made him wait in New Orleans. Or at least Jefferson ’til he was better.”

“Now, Ma, you know good enough –”

“Eh, eh, eh.” She wagged her finger at her son. “Could have killed his fool self. A hundred miles in a rough stagecoach then riding that stallion on home in a rain storm? Why didn’t you bed him down at the Donoho and wait ’til morning at the least? I ought to skin the both of you.”

Mammy’s brother looked up. “Easy now, Sissy. These men tried. Both of them put up good arguments, but Mister Henry? I ‘spect he don’t never take kindly to being told what he can do and what he cain’t do.”

She turned her glare on her brother, then went to him and hugged his head and chest from behind. “You are a sight for these old eyes, Big Hoss.” After a bit, she faced May.

“He ask for you, darlin’ pie. I got him all tucked in. It’ll be alright. Go to him.”

She jumped up and hurried to his room. He sat in bed propped up on the exact same pillows she’d slept on not thirty minutes before.

“I made it.” He smiled. “Ten days, just like I said.”

She ignored the wet seat and pulled the chair up next to the bed. “You should have stayed there, my love. Healed up some before making that awful trip in your condition.”

He shook his head. “Not an option.”

“Why in the world not? What if you’d gotten an infection?”

“You, my babies. I hated going, but I would have hated staying away another day even more.”

May loved it that he’d named her first, that he couldn’t stand being apart any more than she could. But that only made him taking off without her worse.