The Long Trail Home (19 page)

Sam set the present and saddlebags on the bed, propped the carbine at the doorway, and left the door open to the narrow hallway.

Standing at the window, he looked up Main Street. He spotted a large, two-story brick building on the west side of the street. The name on the front riveted his attention.

“Fortune & Son Hardware, since 1876.”

There it is. Robert wrote to me about it years ago. You ran a hardware store, Daddy? I can't believe it. You were a Texas drover—a cattleman of the old school. You signed up with Sam Houston when you were twelve. We all heard the stories, over and over. You rode with the Rangers; chased Comanche raidin' parties. You fought the Mexican army, the gulf shore pirates, and drought. Texas was in your blood.

Then the war came, and you wouldn't fight.

Said it was bad for Texas.

But you dragged us all down to Brownsville so that you and Captain King could sneak food and supplies to hungry, needy Texas families. That's where it started to fall apart, didn't it?

Veronica and Patricia took sick.

Sam Fortune wiped a pool of tears from the corner of his eyes.

Oh Lord, how we all cried and cried the day they both died.

Mama could never get over that. She must have cried ever'day, until the sickness took her too.

Then we went home to find someone else livin' in our house.

I couldn't take it, Daddy.

You just wouldn't fight 'em.

We buried mama on that land, and you wouldn't fight 'em for it. I didn't understand. I had to leave. All we did was argue and fight. Lord, how I said hateful things!

Sam Fortune, you've never been noted for being very smart.

What a great life you chose.

Go up the Indian Territory and join the Confederate raiders.

Confederate raiders? We were horse thieves, cattle rustlers, and hold-up men—that's all we ever were
.

But you, Daddy—you left Texas. You came to a pine-covered mountain range and camped in the gulch. You made your mark in the mines—and in a store. You ran away and made it rich.

I ran away, too, Daddy.

And I ended up without a horse or a meal, down to my last ten bullets, with men no better than me tryin' to shoot me in the back.

But the Lord pulled me out of that, Daddy.

I don't know why. I don't know how heaven works—maybe you and Mama are up there talkin' to the Boss—but kickin' and screamin', he drug me all the way up here.

Things will be different for your middle son now.

But it grieves my heart that you didn't live long enough to see it.

He wiped his eyes on the cuffs of his white shirt.

“Fortune & Son . . . ,” he mumbled.
It doesn't say “Fortune & Sons,” does it. Todd's the right one. He always liked making all the decisions. Big brother followed Daddy. Little brother joined the army. Li'l sis . . . well, she's the only gal Daddy had left. He clutched onto her like she was a porcelain doll. So she waited to get married until after Daddy was gone.

Mr. Carty Toluca, that's mighty fortunate for you. I can't believe Daddy would let her go.

“Is the room satisfactory?” a faint voice queried.

Mr. Toluca, you had better treat sis right. She's got three older brothers who . . . I hope she still has three older brothers. Why did she send me the carbine? The last two months have been like a puzzle where none of the pieces make sense. Maybe I'll wake up from a dream and still be in prison. Now, that's a melancholy ponder.

“Sam, I asked is the room all right?”

He spun around. Mrs. Abigail Gordon stood in the doorway wearing a deep blue, satin dress with white lace at the collar and cuffs.

“You . . . you . . .” He wiped his eyes on the sleeves of his suit coat.

“Yes? I'm sorry, did you expect someone else?”

“No, it's just I was daydreamin' and thinkin' about . . . say, you look quite fetching,” he mumbled.

She waved a long, slender, pale finger at him. “Now don't start that charm on me. I spent many a year as an actress, and I've heard every line you can imagine—and some you couldn't think up in a thousand years.”

His shirt collar pinched his neck, his tie unforgiving. “Then you should be able to tell if a man is just readin' a script or not.”

“Point made.” She dropped her hand to her side. “Thank you for the sincere compliment. But you didn't answer my question: Is the room all right?”

“It is very nice. . . .” Again he wiped his eyes on his coat sleeve.

She strolled over to him, and he could hear the rustle of her dress. “Are you all right?”

He smelled a strong aroma of violet perfume as she approached. “There's just a little dust in the air,” he managed to murmur.

“In one of my rooms?” She stood next to him and looked out the window at the hardware store. “I'll have to talk to my ten-year-old housekeeper. She was supposed to dust in here.”

“Oh, no—the room's immaculate. It must have been road dust.” He cleared his throat. “Are you ready to go to the wedding?”

“Yes, Amber's waiting in the hall. Are you ready?”

That, Mrs. Abigail Gordon, is a question that will soon be answered.
“Do I look presentable?”

“For a man with a good smattering of prematurely gray hair, you look quite presentable.”

“Every gray strand was rightly earned, Mrs. Gordon. Would you care to guess my age?”

She studied him from head to foot. “I'd say . . . thirty-four.”

“How did you know that?”

“Just a lucky guess. As an actress, I've played that game before. Would you like to guess my age?”

“Twenty-one?” he replied quickly.

“Oh, you are a charmer, Sam. Of course, you missed it by more than ten years, but I do appreciate a man with discretion.” She pointed to the package on the bed. “Would you like to take that gown?”

“To the wedding?”

“I thought perhaps you wanted to go see your sister afterward.”

He led her to the doorway. “I'll come back for it. It would be a little awkward to show up with a present, then tote it off.”

At the bottom of the stairs he offered his arm, which she accepted. Amber ran ahead of them, holding the hem of her long, white dress above the boardwalk.

“I'm delighted you are escorting me to the wedding,” Abigail thanked.

“It's my pleasure,” he replied. “But I have to admit, I'm rather amazed that on my first trip to Deadwood, the people are so friendly to me. A little over an hour ago, we had never met. Now I'm walking you down the street, arm in arm. I've had that happen in a dance hall or a saloon, but never in the good part of town.”

She paused and spun him toward her. “If you're embarrassed, I won't hold your arm.”

“No, no, that's not it. But, if you knew all about me, you might not want to be seen with me.”

“Oh my, a man of mystery,” her songlike voice expressed. The song wasn't high or piercing but a low, smooth one like the call of a mourning dove. “Besides,” she added, “if you knew all about me, you might not want to walk with me.”

He stopped to stare at her.

“What are you doing? You're embarrassing me,” she murmured.

He resumed their stroll. “Well, you're wrong,” he asserted.

“About what?”

“No matter what you've done, I'm proud to walk with you.”

“Just how long have you been out on the plains with no women around?” she laughed.

“Most of my life. Does it show?”

“It certainly does. And I certainly like it.”

The simple, pine-paneled sanctuary of the church at the foot of McGovern Hill was almost full when they arrived. Sam lingered outside near the street while Mrs. Gordon ushered Amber to where the wedding party huddled in the kitchen. She rejoined him. Even with a nearly filled sanctuary, Abigail found them room on the center aisle, near the front, on the bride's side.

Several people turned and greeted her as they sat down.

“You seem to know everyone in town,” he whispered above the pump organ music.

Her head almost on his shoulder, she whispered back, “Well, this is my church. And I sold most of these ladies their dresses.”

“So, you are a church woman?” he asked.

“I don't know what you mean by that, but Jesus saved me from my sins. And you?” she prodded.

“Yes, ma'am, indeed he did.” He stared across the crowded pews. “Who are those folks up front?”

She leaned closer to him and resumed whispering, “Friends of the family. The man in the wheelchair is named Quiet Jim. I have no idea what his last name is.”

Sam Fortune stared at the thin, gray-haired man with the thick mustache.
Quiet Jim Trooper, Coryell County, Texas.

“Next to him, with the beautiful black hair, is his wife Columbia. They have five children: Quint, Fern, Sarah, Jimmy, and Brett.” She continued, “The man with that outlandish plaid suit is Professor Edwards, and that's his wife Louise.”

A smile crept across Sam's face.
Mr. Edwards is a professor and married to one of the March sisters?

“Next is Louise's sister, Thelma Speaker. She's been a friend of the family for years and years.”

Sam could only see the back of Mrs. Speaker's head.
Her hair style and color hasn't changed in twenty years. I wonder if she ever forgave Mama for stealin' Daddy from her?

“It's rather strange to see those men without Yapper Jim.”

“Whatever happened to Mr. Haywood?” Sam asked.

Abigail looked surprised. “Who?”

“I mean, this Yapper Jim fellow.”

“What a tragedy. He was in his room at the Merchant's Hotel and a drunk miner started hurrahing the cafe below. A bullet must have come through the ceiling and struck him in bed. They didn't find him until the next day. They buried him up on Mount Moriah in the pioneer section.”

“I'd like to go up there,” Sam remarked.

“Why is that?” She tried to look him in the eye, but he avoided her probe.

“Eh . . . you know . . .,” he babbled, “isn't Wild Bill Hickok buried up there?”

“Yes, he is.”

“Would you go up there with me?” he queried.

“How about after the wedding?”

“That would be nice. Can we walk up there from here?” Sam asked.

“Not dressed like this. We will need a carriage.”

Holding his hat in his lap, Sam curled the brim as he talked. “How about those folks in the very front row? Is there anyone there I should get to know?”

“We can't see them that well since their backs are to us,” Abigail explained. “The tall man with light, thin hair near the aisle is Dacee June's eldest brother, Todd. You will definitely want to talk to him about your telephone exchange. He's one of the leading businessmen in the northern Black Hills.”

Sam observed the woman next to Todd lean over and whisper in his ear. “And next to him, the lady with light brown hair and narrow chin?”

“That's his wife Rebekah. That lady is pure gold. She's probably the best friend I've ever had in my life. She led me to the Lord.”

“Next to her?”

“That's Little Hank, named after his granddaddy.”

“How old is he?”

“He's four. Camilla's three, Nettie's two, and Stuart is one.”

“My goodness, that's quite a family.”

Abigail hushed her whisper and directed it in his ear. “She's expecting another, but she hasn't even told Todd yet.”

I have an entire family that doesn't even know I exist.
“And the man in the uniform?”

“That's Captain Robert Fortune, another of Dacee June's brothers.”

Captain? Bobby made captain? I didn't even know he went to officer's school!

“The woman with the long, shiny hair is his Jamie Sue. The nine-year-old is Little Frank. You might find this interesting. He was named after the first man buried on Mount Moriah, Big River Frank, but that was way before I moved here.”

Sam leaned back until the polished wood pew straightened his back.
The cemetery is full of old Texans. No wonder Daddy could never leave.

“Next are the twins, almost seven years old. Patricia and Veronica are identical in looks only.”

Like a levee that suddenly burst after years of relentless pressure, tears streamed down Sam's cheeks.
Good for you, Bobby. You named your girls after our sisters. I like that.

“You know, I always cry at weddings, too.” Abigail Gordon handed Sam a neatly folded, white linen handkerchief that she had pulled from the sleeve of her dress.

He refused the dainty handkerchief and dabbed his eyes on the back of his hand. “Eh, no . . . it's the dust again. I've had alkali in my eyes ever since Cheyenne,” he muttered.

“You know what seems funny to me, Sam?”

“What's that?”

She reached over and put her hand on his. It felt warm, soft. “It is so strange for me to sit here and introduce your own family to you.”

“What?” The word blurted out like a wrong note in a slow waltz. The people in front glared back at him.

“Samuel Fortune, when are you going to walk up and tell them you're here?”

“How did you . . . you knew . . . ?”

She reached up, slipped her arm in his, and whispered, “I trust you don't think I'd latch onto any drifting stranger and drag them to a wedding. Your sister has said for six months that all three of her brothers would be at her wedding, and here you are.”