Daughters of the Heart (14 page)

She snickered then shook her head. “Henry Buckmeyer, what about Elijah?”

“He’s going home to California in a couple of months. If Eversole does come back, I could shoot him then.”

“Sweetheart, you cannot keep these girls your babies forever.”

Even though she was right, he hated it that they’d grown up so fast. “Still, we need to warn Gwendolyn about Hightower. You got any inkling who she might be leaning toward?”

“No, I believe we need to stay out of it right now. She’ll make the right choice when the times comes.” She tilted her pretty head and smiled that smile he loved more than life.

He started to bring up Mary Rachel and her bad decisions, but his second-born daughter wasn’t her older sister. Rebecca had downright spoiled him, waiting so long to get married.

Why his daughters seemed in such a rush perplexed him. Wasn’t like he had them out working in the fields every day. They had no idea how hard life could get.

Their mother learned the hard way.

Was that it? Had he spoiled them? Made life too easy for them. Sheltered them too much…that’s what he’d done. Even Bonnie Claire. Twelve years old and campaigning for him to change his courting rules. What was the world coming to?

No doubt shooting all the suitors sure would make his life easier. If only it were legal. “Is Crockett with Gwen tonight?”

“Last I saw, Houston and Bart had him outside holding the jar of fireflies. They’re catching and he’s the keeper. But she said she’d take him up when she goes.”

He stood. He certainly liked the new sleeping arrangements. “You ready for bed?”

“In a minute. Sit back down, please, sir. I wrote three pages on the pirate story I need you to read.”

He did as told, she asked so nice and all. If only someone would be as plain telling him what he needed to do with his baby girls.

As the month of May melted
into June, Clay knew for certain three things. He loved Gwendolyn more than he thought possible.

Whenever he laid eyes on her with the baby, it swelled his heart. She’d make him one fine wife and his babies an exceptional mother.

Pleased him to no end that Elijah and Cecelia were settled, put even more pressure on his love’s father to give him the go ahead on courting his lady love. Wouldn’t be right, the younger sister marrying first.

Some old wives’ tales even claimed that would destine Gwendolyn to be a spinster, not that Clay would ever let that happen.

Second, he liked Eversole better than any of his own brothers. The man treated him like a peer instead of the snot-nosed tagalong he’d been most of his life. He’d always hated being the baby.

To top the biscuit with a good lathering of cane molasses, Elijah had offered him ten percent of his planter out of his own cut.

Once the patent came back, and Elijah and Mister Henry went into production, that might mean better than a hundred dollars a year, and all he did was speak his mind about making a few changes here and there, knowing more about farming.

That Elijah Eversole was top shelf. In every way.

He’d learned so much helping the man build the steam engine and his first planter. Almost made him want to forget ranching and be a smith, except Elijah called himself a machinist. He’d sure hate to see him go when the time came.

And his third certainty? First chance he got, he was going to plug the scoundrel, Braxton Hightower. That Gwen could even possibly be interested in the pompous dandy hurt his heart. It remained the only black mark against her.

Smart as she was, he could not understand how she didn’t see at first glance.

His new friend claimed she only toyed with the man to make Clay jealous and to let her daddy know she didn’t fall for the first handsome fella to stall his horse in the Buckmeyer’s barn.

Another reason he chalked up as to why he liked the gold mining machinist so much. The man talked good sense.

And Clay hoped that was truth, but every time he got a private word with Gwen, she would only say. “You know you have to get my father’s blessing. Do that, and then we’ll talk.”

With the planting finished and the children back to their books, those quiet moments spent almost alone with his love proved harder to come by.

The ladies only brought dinner to the mill once or twice a week, instead of every day. At least he found delight that seeking timberland kept Hightower away more and more.

Then, to his surprise, his oldest brother’s horse chomped hay in a stall in the Buckmeyer’s barn that mid-June evening. Halfway through unharnessing Elijah’s gelding, Jake busted through the man door.

“There you are, Clay. Ma says to get yourself home. Tonight.”

“What’s the rush?”

“You ain’t heard about the yellow fever outbreak?”

“No. What about it?”

“Killed over seven thousand in New Orleans, and Ma wants all her chickens close, especially her precious sweet little baby chick.” He hated his brother’s nasty falsetto, hadn’t missed that.

At twenty-five, Clay figured he could best Jake who was pushing forty. But then what? Ma would just send another brother to fetch him home.

At least the old boy wasn’t twisting his ear and kicking his backside as he ran toward the house. Wouldn’t do him any good to argue. Much as he hated leaving, he’d just have to make the best of it.

“Give me a few minutes to take my leave.”

“Go on then. Where’s your saddle, and I’ll wrangle for you like when you was three.”

Clay told him and didn’t miss the smirk Elijah tried to keep from erupting into a full-blown haw.

The news the boy’s brother brought about yellow fever breaking out in Braxton’s home town explained why Raines hadn’t responded to his missive. After only a few minutes of reflection, without his partner’s help or Bull’s coin, he had no reason to stay—other than Gwen, and she had rebuffed most of his advances.

Once he had horse ready and tied to the main hitching post in front of the big house, he found Henry in his library huddled with May and her brother.

“Hate to bother you, sir, but the fever hitting New Orleans explains why I’ve not heard from my partner there. As much as I hate leaving before I could finalize any timber purchases, I must get back and see to my friend’s well-being. Sometimes Claude’s good works takes him places he shouldn’t go.”

How many times had he warned his partner about the brothels and back alley dice games he frequented?

He let his lie sink in.

Hopefully, he’d put enough sincerity in his voice. Perhaps he should have practiced that line in front of the mirror before he delivered it. Oh well, most likely he’d never see Buckmeyer again.

Henry stood and extended his hand. “Send word, if you’re of a mind. Let us know. And of course, you’re welcome any time.”

Braxton grasped the man’s hand, surprised at the strength. “Thank you, sir. I’d like to write Gwen if that’s permissible.”

Henry nodded. “Enclose it in my envelope, and I’ll pass it along.”

“Of course.” He smiled at Miss May, and even found a grin for the ex-slave, who only stared. Uppity came to mind, but he didn’t voice it. All the hours gaming not only taught him to keep a straight face, but also to hold his tongue.

Henry walked the man out, then once the visitor topped the rise, he faced Chester who had followed. “What was that all about?”

His brother-in-law shook his head. “Didn’t put it together until just now. I’d bet my cut of May’s pirate novel, that Braxton’s last name isn’t Hightower.”

Henry had grown to love the man, but sometimes, he flat out infuriated him. “Explain yourself.”

He nodded toward the house. “Let’s go inside. May will want to hear this.”

For Henry’s taste, Chester spent too many words getting to the point, but then he finally dropped the anvil. “So until just now, I didn’t realize that Claude Raines is the one he wrote to. Had to be.”

Not enough buck bang for Henry’s ear time. “That name doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“Really? Every time Jean Paul tells the story of you fighting Bull, he mentions Claude Raines.”

“Young guy with wavy hair?”

Chester shrugged. “Don’t know about that. But that letter he posted last month only had C Raines on it. Just now though, he called his partner’s name. Claude. Then it hit me. His visit all came together, the way one of May’s stories winds down to its completion with all the loose ends rightfully tied.”

His wife’s brother went on for a bit. She seemed quite enthralled at his assumptions. Wasn’t like the man talked much at all, but when he did get going, he could gust to gale force. “Well, seems the Lord spared us all.”

Smiling at his almost child bride, Henry pondered what the man being in cahoots with Raines could encompass. A talk with Jean Paul was in order to be sure. “Guess we can forget even thinking about ’60?”

“No. How can you say that? We cannot forget that. The country needs you. That bunch in Washington have obviously lost their collective minds. Someone that’s wise and brave and as levelheaded as you needs to go throw the whole bunch of them into the ocean.”

“True, but if Jackson couldn’t do it, what makes you think I could?”

Chester, evidently just as enamored about him running as his sister, threw in his penny’s worth. “He did pay off all the debt.”

“So? That isn’t solving the slavery issue.” How could the man not remember that?

With a chuckle, his brother-in-law stretched his back. “But if we were in charge? We could buy them all and send them north. Avoid any bloodshed fighting over it.”

Now there was an idea, but mercy, the price would go through the roof. Then again, if he was in charge, he could get Congress to…. Before that bill got passed, reality bit him. He couldn’t get himself nominated, much less elected.

Took Jackson two tries, and he was the hero who whipped the British at New Orleans.

Of all happenings, she did not expect both of her suitors to leave in one day. Gwen hated it all the way around the stump, hated it even worse when she allowed herself to even think of Cecelia Carol getting married first, before her.

Once, June had been her favorite month, but no more, not ever again would she trust it, robbing her of both her beaus.

Wasn’t right.

The next to last day of the unbearably hot month brought at least some solace. Braxton had written.

Of course, her pigheaded father’s insistence that the man put her letter in an envelope addressed to him kept it from being very personal—as if she wasn’t full grown enough to receive her own correspondence.

She hated it that Daddy read it first.

Once alone in her blistering bedroom, she sat at her desk, smoothed it out, and studied on how the man wrote her name. Penmanship said a lot about a person. Braxton wrote with such a neat and flowing script, especially for a man.

A bead of perspiration trickled down her forehead.

Wanting to relish her letter with no distractions, she jumped up and pulled her lace curtains all the way back then tied them with a sky blue ribbon. A slight breeze cooled her skin. She unbuttoned the top buttons of her dress and let the neck lie open.