Hope Reborn (7 page)

Mary Rachel touched her lips. “Oh, I don’t care where I sleep. I’d bunk with Houston if it meant you’d come!”

Couldn’t help but chuckle. He leaned back in this chair. “Now, Miss Meriwether, that is quite a sacrifice.”

“Please say you’ll come. There’s plenty of room just like Daddy said. I’d love it so much!”

May shook her head. How could anyone deny this young lady anything? She faced the girl’s father. “Are you positive we wouldn’t be a burden? I don’t want to put anyone out.”

“No, not at all. We have plenty of room.” He chuckled. “Please do, or I’ll not hear the end of how mean I am for not letting my baby stay in town by herself.”

“Oh, Daddy, I am not a baby.”

May patted the girl’s arm. “Sweetheart, get used to it. You’ll always be his baby until the day he dies.”

The young lady put her hand over May’s. “Will you then? Say you will.”

May looked from the girl to her father; it would be wonderful to get to know the man better, if only for her next book’s sake. She’d never come between a husband and his wife.

But if she’d judged him right, that wouldn’t be possible anyway. “And what about your Mis’ess? What will she think of you inviting two strangers to stay in her home?”

He shook his head.

“Mama’s with the Lord; she passed almost six years ago when Houston—my baby brother—was born.”

“Oh, dear.” Without even thinking, her hand rested on top of Henry’s. “I’m so sorry.”

He nodded. “Thank you, ma’am, so you’ll come?”

“Alright then, fine. Once I’ve finished with the revisions, we’ll come.” She faced the man. “If you’re sure it’s no problem.”

“None at all. But why wait? Do your rewrite there. I promise you’ll like Mammy’s cooking better than the Donoho’s.”

His words pushed her back. Could any chef beat the meal she’d just enjoyed?

“Oh, no, that might be dangerous to my waistline. I’ve never eaten a more enjoyable supper. Fine, it’s settled then. We’ll check out first thing in the morning and hire a carriage.”

“That won’t be necessary. I’ll send Jean Paul to pick you up.”

That night as she waited for sleep to find her, May tried to picture Mis’ess Patrick Henry Buckmeyer, but couldn’t decide exactly what kind of lady Mary Rachel’s father would marry.

A bit of the man showed in his daughter, though not much. Perhaps the girl favored her mother. The young lady certainly was a beauty.

Her looks could have been from someone else, maybe Henry’s mother? What did it matter anyway? Not a whit. She shouldn’t be speculating on what his deceased wife looked like.

Even if Mis’ess Buckmeyer had been a homely old hag—not that a man like Henry would be attracted to an ugly woman—May had no business thinking such thoughts.

But six years, and he hadn’t remarried?

She took a deep breath and held it. Maybe he could find love again. Maybe… Stop it, goodness gracious, she and he were from different worlds. He was obviously very religious.

What would he think about her unbelief? Would he still open his home and allow his daughter to spend time with her if he knew?

She shouldn’t even think about him. He wouldn’t be interested in an old spinster. Why, he only agreed to the supper because of his delightful daughter. She smiled.

How lucky to find someone so anxious to pen a copy of her novel.

The morning crawled along extra slow and hot; the children finished their chores, and Laura had them busy cracking the books. Right after sunup, he and the dog had taken their usual turn around the section that surrounded the big house.

Found no tracks or scents to be concerned with; looked like a new sounder of hogs rooted some on the other side of Langford Creek, but he’d leave them to the others. Henry liked running the wild ones to ground well enough, but not this day.

Back at the house, he leaned his rifle against the cedar post then settled into his porch rocker and waited. For the third time that morning, he resisted the urge to visit Sue’s grave.

For sure, she’d understand. Her special place in his heart would be there until the day he passed over, but the rip had healed and scarred over. She’d understand; maybe even encourage him.

Of late, he’d been considering all the widows he knew in the Red River Valley. Each in their own way encouraged him to come courting, but didn’t seem that a one of them was worth the effort.

Instead, the most interesting lady he’d met in years traveled all the way from New York City and was due to arrive and stay right here at his home as his houseguest. Like the Lord arranged it all.

Thinking on the scuttlebutt the gossips would hurl if they knew of the arrangements he’d made gave him a smile. Wonder if any of them had seen her yet? They’d for sure have heard she was in town. The gossip in Clarksville got around fast as a change of weather in Texas.

Leaning forward, he checked to the north, but nothing. No dust cloud, not a hint of anyone coming. Not even a stray bird. He rocked back and contemplated the lady.

She oozed strength.

He loved the way she fussed with her wayward curls. Her nose, in itself, might be considered a bit wide, but it worked so well on her face. Matched her lips.

Never had he encountered a mouth that begged to be kissed before, but May Meriwether sported one.

Stop being a fool. He closed his eyes. What an idiot. She didn’t come looking for love, might even have one back east—probably did. Wouldn’t be a reason any man in his right mind wouldn’t want her.

No, she came to Texas for some onsite research for her new novel, not a husband.

How old was she? Maybe thirty-five, not a lot older than Rebecca.

Wouldn’t do for him to be robbing the cradle. A laugh escaped. If he were to marry a gal young enough to be his daughter, that would silence all the glad-handers who wanted him to stand for office.

For sure, he’d throw his hat in if he could be dictator, but making deals with all the devils didn’t seem to him like the way to run a state.

Governor Buckmeyer or Senator did have a certain ring, but could he pay the price those titles would cost him? Other than Jackson and Houston, had he ever even known an office holder not corrupt—above mayor anyway.

The dog raised his head then growled. Henry stood. “It’s alright, boy.” He stepped off the porch with New Blue out in front. Above the tree line to the north, a small dust cloud rose. Wouldn’t be long now.

He retreated to his rocker. Shouldn’t seem too eager. Surprised him a bit though that his heart beat faster.

For sure, he didn’t want to act like some old chowderhead around the young woman. He smiled at himself. Was that what he was doing? Playing to the fool?

Thinking this handsome, successful lady might possibly have any interest in the likes of him?

May poofed a wayward curl interfering with her peripheral vision. “My, my, aren’t these Texas pine trees so big and tall? They’re beautiful. I love it how the branches grow over the road, and the shade is divine. Are we almost there?”

Chester looked out the carriage’s window. “Yes, ma’am. We’ve been on the man’s land for a while now.”

“Oh, look! There’s a deer. Did you see it? It ran right across the road.”

He smiled. “All I caught was a big white tail disappearing into the woods.” The driver turned back west. “Good, the house isn’t far past these fields Mr. Buckmeyer’s getting ready for wheat.”

She couldn’t believe it. She faced Chester. “Did you see?”

“Yes, ma’am. I saw.”

She looked again at the gang of slaves working the man’s fields. “Tell him, tell the driver to turn this carriage right around and take us right back to town. I’ll not be staying in any house where a man thinks it’s perfectly fine to own another man.”

“We’ve come a long way, May. Turning around now doesn’t make sense.”

So logical all the time, she hated his logic. She would certainly not spend one night in the man’s house. Her insides warmed.

Seething, she gritted her teeth and looked at the window, watching the slaves in the field. Purposely, she took deep breaths then blew them out slow, through her nose, a little surprised flames didn’t singe her nostrils.

How unfortunate for young Mary Rachel, born and raised to believe owning another person was no more than owning horses or cattle. To be taught that the poor darkies need a master.

Someone to care for them, or what? Why should their hard labor be considered a fair exchange for food and a roof over their underprivileged nappy heads?

She swallowed the venom, but not too deep. She fully intended to bite the hand that fed these deprived folks, an absolute certainty. And it wouldn’t be a little love nip, either.

If the man gave her half a chance, she’d rip out his jugular and feed it to his dogs. She couldn’t believe Chester hadn’t said anything to her. He’d been there. He’d seen what went on.

“Why didn’t you warn me? You definitely should have before I ever accepted the man’s invitation.”

“My initial visit, I only met our driver Jean Paul and his mother, the cook. They are not Buckmeyer’s slaves, but freed coloreds in his employ.”

“Oh? So what if he pays his house boy and cook. Just look there in the fields at those poor men!”

He leaned closer to the window. “Yes, ma’am, but look again. They work alone. Do you see a mounted overseer? Or even a dog to chase after if they were to run.”

She gazed out the window and swallowed her pride a bit. Jumping to conclusions got her in more trouble than she cared to recall. “Well.” She softened her tone. “No. I do not.”

Guess Buckmeyer deserved at least the opportunity to explain himself. She might retract her claws, but she’d keep them close and sharp.

Chester settled back into his seat. “It’s feasible they’re all freed men gainfully employed.”

“I suppose that’s a possibility.” She, too, pushed back into the padded seat. She’d give him a chance, but the first thing, she’d discover the status of Buckmeyer’s field hands.

Henry hadn’t struck her as a slave master, but the only one of those she’d really known had fooled her. In her own defense, she’d been a child, and him, her father.

The carriage rounded a corner, and she caught a glimpse of the house. She resisted the urge to lean out and study the massive two-story structure. Such a grand and beautiful home.

Who would have imagined? And out in the sticks. Why, just hauling everything so far must have cost a fortune. Chester had called it nice but offered no details.

Guess she’d pictured some oversized log structure sprawling out over the blistering prairie with nary a tree in sight, but they stood tall in most every direction.

In her mind’s eye, it sat baking in the Texas sun, but in reality, looked like such a haven painted a cool shade of green with the huge oak in front and enormous pine in back. And even a turret, simply charming.

She chuckled to herself.

Her original idea had thrown in the cabin being draped with sleeping hunting hounds with a mess of dirty little urchins running amuck.

The carriage came to a stop. She covered her mouth while the dust settled, then scooted forward. The door opened, and Buckmeyer himself stood there, like he’d been waiting for her.

He extended his hand. “Good morning, Miss Meriwether. Welcome to our home.”

She took it and let him help her out then gave him the coldest smile she owned. “Thank you, but there’s something I need to know straightaway.”

He stepped back a bit, but kept hold of her hand. “What would that be?”

She bore into his eyes, daring him to look away. “Those men, the ones working your fields, are they your slaves?”

His lips spread into a broad grin. “Are all Yankees this forward?”

“Well, uh, I live in New York, but I’m certainly not a Yankee and wouldn’t know. I was born in Virginia, and prefer to think of myself as a Southern lady. So? Are those men your slaves or not?”

“No, ma’am.” Buckmeyer nodded toward the carriage driver. “Most of them are Jean Paul’s relatives. I admit to buying a few of them over the years, but only so we could bring them here and emancipate them.”

He shook his head again. “If you must know, Jean Paul and I have not even indentured them. They’re free to come and go as they please.”

“I see. I’m very relieved to hear that.”

“Two of his cousins got gold fever when news of Sutter’s Mill reached us; they left this spring.” He shrugged. “I hate slavery, and other than those aforementioned times, have never owned another man.”

The joy in her heart spread to her mouth. “Please forgive me for my misjudgment, sir. Ownership of a human being is absolutely deplorable in my humble opinion.”

“No offense taken. We’re in agreement, ma’am.” He turned toward the house. “Come meet the children. They’ll love the interruption.”

The oversized, double twelve paned front doors impressed her to the hilt with their cut glass. Simply exquisite.

He led her inside to a grand entry hall, not quite as grand as Sea Side, but how had he built this house in the middle of nowhere without slave labor?

“Your home is beautiful, Mr. Buckmeyer.”

He beamed. “Call me Henry.”

“Henry, then.”  Movement diverted her attention away from scrutinizing the extra wide staircase to her left.

“Miss May! You came. You’re really here.” Behind Mary Rachel, a string of well scrubbed children filled out of a room that connected to the dining room to her right.

“Yes, I’m really here.” May did her best to imprint all the names to the lovely little faces, but she was getting lost when Henry started explaining the relationships.

She got it that Lacy, the dark-haired little beauty belonged to the lady who came in with the children, but she’d for sure need to take notes to keep this crew straight.

Where had Chester gone? He was better with names and relationships.

Mary Rachel asked a question, then before May could answer, the next oldest daughter—Gwendolyn, if she had it right—asked one of her own. Then the biggest boy Charley, stepped forward and added his voice to the sudden melee.

“Enough, silence. Where have your manners gone?” Henry stepped between her and the children. “Get back to your studies. You can talk with Miss May at dinner—one at a time. Now git.”

Like good soldiers marching off to war, Henry’s children obeyed his order. She loved it. These little ones acted exactly like hers would, if the right man would only come along and do his duty.

After the last one disappeared into the room off the dining hall, she turned toward the man. “You run a tight ship. My compliments. Your offspring are lovely.”