Daughters of the Heart (16 page)

“What was it?”

“Something he came up with to use at the mine. Right off, I see that he’s only showing me a fourth of the hammer Jethro dreamed up. Didn’t have a patent yet, and wanted to keep anyone from stealing the idea, so they were parting the castings out.”

“What happened?”

“Oh, I ended up making it all, then a steam engine to run it. They’d thought of powering it with water. Good men, those two. You’ll like them. Both gave up ten percent of their share to have me work at the mine full time.”

Plenty of questions kept his new friend talking all the way to Clarksville, but the one inquiry heavy on his mind, Elijah couldn’t answer any more than anyone else. Would Henry Buckmeyer ever allow him to court Gwendolyn?

A part of him said no, chided himself for hoping. But the part closest to his heart shouted that he had to and refused any negative thinking. Then to his amazement, who but the man, his wife, and his two beauties waited in the Donoho’s lobby?   

Of all the men and boys Gwen had known, Clay Briggs clearly stood out as the best looking.

Shame his intelligence didn’t match up with Elijah’s, and so far as being debonair…well, poor guy couldn’t compare with Braxton in that category. Then again, no one would probably call Daddy suave either.

She glanced over at him.

Being so distinguished and such a man’s man, her father definitely overcame any shortcomings. Most likely though, she’d never find anyone to compare with him. So who exactly should she settle for?

Wasn’t a bit fair Cecelia Carol swooped in and claimed Elijah as her own, eliminating him from Gwendolyn’s choices.

The way her sister gushed over the man…well, downright ridiculous.

Perhaps she should reject them all and simply wait like Mama May.

Would there ever be a man out there who could best Daddy?

“So good to see you, sir.” Clay extended his hand and shook her father’s vigorously, then tipped his hat to May. “Evening, Ma’am.”

Her father shook then nodded toward Gwendolyn and her sister standing to her right. “My girls were giving me all kinds of grief over not getting to send you two off.”

“Oh, darling, you didn’t hear the half of it.” Mama laughed and slipped her hand under his arm then held it. She turned and grinned at the travelers. “I understood perfectly. You’re going to be gone so long, our daughters only wanted to say goodbye properly.” Gwen would be ever grateful for the woman’s influence on her behalf.

“So here we are.”

Why did Daddy always have to state the obvious?

Clay’s dimpled grin about melted her heart, but did she really want to be saddled with a good-looking mama’s boy? Nevermind he was seven years older than her.

Mercy, even Bonnie acted more mature than Mama Briggs’ handsome baby boy. And on comparison, Braxton seemed far more the established man.

She returned Clay’s smile, but held her peace until seated in the hotel’s main dining room. Firmly ushering Daddy to a side table, Mama May winked at her.

How heavenly. She loved having a mother who understood and a father inclined to give her way more than not. How could she have known what she was missing before?

They’d be out of earshot, but not too far away. If truth be known, might take the man all of two seconds to have either of the younger men in a chokehold if the need arose, and he could probably have them both down in under a minute.

She studied the youngest Briggs. Would he be anywhere near as protective?

“How’d your mama take it? You going west with Elijah.”

“About like I figured.” He chuckled. “Least she didn’t order Jake to hogtie me.”

From what he’d said before—though she could hardly believe he told it on himself—that had happened more than once. “And how is your family? Everyone fine?”

He nodded in agreement then talked a bit about them. She enjoyed listening to him. He spoke with a pleasant tone. Hopefully, his voice would deepen with age.

Spinning a good yarn, he had CeCe and Elijah laughing all the way through, but then he hushed as if he didn’t want to talk all the time. She liked him being a good conversationalist.

Under the table, his knee touched hers. And her heartbeat quickened.

The waiter came and placed a plate of steak with all the fixings in front of Gwendolyn first then the other three. She glanced at her father who nodded. Why did he do that? What if she wanted something different? She smiled at him anyway.

Guess he figured since he was footing the tab, he could order whatever he suspected everyone would love.

Elijah and CeCe spent more time cooing than eating, like their love was so strong and deep, they didn’t even need food. Clay on the other hand ate steady and sure, but did manage a bit of small talk along the way.

While she’d have preferred the long looks and sweet words, she wasn’t certain from whom? Him or Braxton? Or some as yet unknown suitor?

Like he knew her thoughts, Clay set his fork down, his plate still half full, and leaned toward her. “Remember the first time you spoke to me?”

She searched her recollections, but couldn’t recall a specific time. The youngest of the handsome Briggs brothers had pretty much been around her whole life. “No, can’t say that I do. Seems like we’ve known each other forever.”

“True, but I wasn’t paying you no never mind, not until the big summer fish fry of ’48. You remember that?”

She nodded. How could she forget? “Seems to me, you only had eyes for Mary Rachel back then.”

“Yeah, your sister is a beauty all right, but you…well, you were so young then. Anyway, thought I was, but she only had eyes for Caleb Wheeler.”

“I remember we’d just finished seining the river and helping Rebecca gather the keepers, hurrying to throw the others back into the water.”

“That’s right, fun times.”

“I got in your way, remember that?”

It all came back. Sitting there next to the Red, grinning at her instead of putting on his boots, so he could be of some use. “I remember you lollygagging and not helping.”

“Hey, I was thunderstruck, like the first time I’d ever really noticed you.” He smiled and leaned ever closer. “I’ve been in love with you ever since. Remember what you said to me?”

“No, what?”

Love. Did he really know what that meant? She didn’t. How could someone who’d never been kissed know anything about romantic love? She loved her family and…she glanced at her father, deep in conversation with some man who’d pulled up a chair.

Clay’s face ever closer sent a heady wave over her.

Was she about to faint? He smelled so good.

What would it be like to press her lips against his?

Her heart beat double time trying to break out of her ribs.

Downright wrong, her sister getting kissed first.

But Gwendolyn would pay dearly if her father caught her kissing him right there in the Donoho’s dining room. The idiot would probably kiss her back, and then Daddy would kill him on the spot.

She leaned back and grinned.

“What’s funny?”

She snickered, glanced at her father still engrossed in his conversation, then sat forward again, but not too close. “Oh, I just saved your life.”

“What?”

“You come back, Clay Briggs, and I’ll tell you all about it. Now what was it I supposedly said to you at the fish fry?”

“If I tell you, will you tell me what you meant?”

So many things had happened that summer before she turned fourteen.

Sorting through the yards of material she and Miss Laura had sown to make all the new dresses her blooming bosom demanded, she shooed away all the boys who suddenly decided she didn’t need to be chased any longer and focused on the day of the fish fry.

Hot. She did remember it being almost unbearably hot.

Seemed to her she didn’t say anything when she caught him staring at her. Then like a bolt of lightning it hit her. “Mercy.”

“Exactly. Now pray tell, Gwendolyn Buckmeyer, what did you mean by that?”

She gave him her best smile, the one she’d spent hours practicing. “Come back, and I’ll tell you that, too. But seeing as how you’re running off to God only knows where…well…then what’s the point?”

His mirth faded, replaced by the most serious, manly expression she’d ever seen on his handsome face. “Will you wait for me?”

That evening a storm rolled across
the prairie, broke the breath-sucking heat, and sent an almost cool breeze to flutter Gwen’s lace curtains. More than bearable.

After rocking Crockett to sleep, she replayed every word of her last minutes with Clay, wondering when she might see him again. She loved him saying that he loved her almost as much as she hated him running off with Elijah.

Poor CeCe. So heartsick over her fiancé leaving, she’d bawled most the night. Gwen even cried with her some, but not over Clay going.

Shedding tears less over them leaving, she cried rather over being so torn, not knowing who she wanted; if she could only decide. Braxton was so much more the man, but he’d run off, too.

However, his proved a better reason. After all, his friend died.

Clay Briggs only left because he wanted to have an adventure. Still the boy in him. Maybe he would come home a man.

If only her heart could be as sure as her sister’s. No indecision from Cecelia. Three handsome men around, and she knew immediately who she wanted and jumped straight in over her head. She loved Elijah Eversole with her whole heart.

More than life, she’d said. But how did she know?

Gwendolyn didn’t feel anywhere near as strong about Braxton or Clay.

Could it be that neither one was right?

Would she ever know true love?

Preparations for the big Independence Day picnic brought some respite. Unlike most Fourths, she volunteered to help in the kitchen. If she planned on becoming a wife, best learn more about preparing meals.

No cook would be coming along to her new home. Oh, just the thought of her own home gave her glory bumps!

Think of it! A husband and babies of her very own.

Folks lauded her seamstress skills all over the county, always took a blue ribbon at the fair. Had since only a nine-year-old. Looking pretty didn’t throw her any knots, had that part down plenty smooth.

And everyone bragged on her natural ways with babies. Still, having Miss Jewel or someone like her in the kitchen would be such a blessing.

Mama May had been blessed like that, but she sure enough whispered in Gwendolyn’s ear that all wives needed to know at least the basics—all the basics. Even cleaning. And planting the garden, hoeing it, too.

And taking care of the nasty chickens, too, she supposed. Those stupid birds doodooed everywhere. Mercy, she’d be so busy. Did she want to sign up for all that with Clay? Or Braxton?

Or anyone? She actually might understand Mama May’s procrastination more and more.

As most years, the Fourth of July celebration ended with a bang. Lots of firecrackers and pistols shot in the air. But…of all the attention the men and boys paid her, none measured up to the two suitors she already juggled.

Poor old man Wilson proved the funniest and most entertaining, flashing his toothless grin whenever he caught her eye, but what was he thinking? Even if she was so crazy as to want to marry a man in his forties, her father would never allow it.

July burned its way to August. Only thing worse than 1853’s summer heat proved to be its horrible humidity. In Gwen’s almost nineteen years, she couldn’t remember it being so choking muggy.

The rain had been great, especially for the cotton—her family’s biggest cash crop—but the few hours of relief from the heat came at such a high price.

The boys hurried through their chores then stayed in the stock pool, only coming in for supper. She and her sisters and Mama May had taken to bathing most evenings while the men and boys saw to the dishes.

Sure didn’t need to bother kindling a fire. The cooler the water the better, its release way more than welcome.

One such splashy evening, as Mama May climbed out of the cedar tub Daddy had built for Gwen’s mother so many years before, realization smacked her hard.

Her stepmother’s thin cotton chemise clung to her form. She wasn’t letting herself go as Gwen and Cecelia had speculated.

“Mama?”

May grabbed a towel, then turned around, a look of sweet surprise on her face. “Yes, dear?”

“When do you expect the tiny blessing?”

Her smile widened. “I suppose sometime just after the New Year.”

Gwendolyn beat her sisters out of the water, but Bonnie squealed first.

Hugs and kisses flowed!

Happy tears, but mingled with a few of regret that it wasn’t her with child. Gwen led the charge congratulating her father on the newest Buckmeyer. Mostly, he seemed pleased, but she detected a bit of remorse in his tone and in his eyes.

That night while she lay on her pillow staring into the darkness, contemplating the prospect of another baby, a tear filled her eye, and a twang of jealousy swirled across and through her heart.

Mary Rachel had beat them all with two babies who’d have an uncle or aunt younger than them. Rebecca and Wallace Rusk had not been blessed.

Levi and Rose just welcomed their third boy, baby Wallace Rusk after the first of the year—five boys! Maybe the new wee Buckmeyer would be born on his birthday.

Life wasn’t fair, two good-looking men had been vying for her hand, showering her with their attentions, and now she didn’t have any. To make it worse, her younger sister settled her future with Elijah and Daddy’s blessing.

They would be married come spring then probably nine months and a day later, bring another baby into Gwendolyn’s life to love who wasn’t her own.

Tears welled then overflowed. Nothing was fair!

The sweltering heat.

Clay and Braxton so far away.

And her getting older by the minute.

Gracious, Lord, I’m almost a spinster.

That same night, four hundred and sixty miles east by southeast, in the seediest park of New Orleans, the section of the French Quarter called the Swamp, where gamblers, whores, thieves, and cheats plied their trade on each other and any unfortunate pilgrim who happened to fall into their dens of iniquity, a hawk became a pigeon.

Like all the regulars at the tables, Braxton’s fortunes peaked and plummeted. Better than most, his skill proved dampened of late by his lust for a beautiful mulatto he’d danced with two Sundays past in Congo Square.

Her master wanted three thousand for the slave, and Braxton was short.

His stake turned into scared money, and instead of his usual conservative style of play, he pressed. Then wholly contrary to his personal code, exhausted all lines of credit.

Save one.

Half past midnight, he stopped outside the Bourbon Street two-story and turned his ear to the dimly lit balcony. No snorts and raspy snores rode the muggy breeze. The Bull was up. Braxton keyed the lock and slipped inside.

Taking the stairs two at a time, he hurried up and rapped a knuckle on the door. After two lungs’ full of stale air, he pushed it open.

The old man, bathed in lamp light, sat next to the window, a drink in his hand, reading a book. How quaint. Where was his latest soiled dove?

He tucked a slip of paper between two pages then lay the tome in his lap. “Saints alive, boy, where have you been?”

“I need a loan.”

The Bull eyed him a bit then nodded. “How much?”

“Five thousand.”

“Tidy sum. Last I heard, you weren’t that far in.”

“Still not, but there’s a slave I want to buy.”

“Ah yes. The mulatto in Congo Square. Sofie, right? Handsome woman.”

“Anything go on in this town you don’t know about?”

He snorted a grin. “Hardly. Should be taking after the English. We treat our slaves too good, giving ’em Sunday afternoons off, acting like they have rights.”

“Where’s your charity, old man? Of course they do, and –”

“And nothing, Son, they’re property, pure and simple. No more than a dog or a mule. Think a mule ought to have Sundays off, too?” The man turned his face away and stared out the window. “If Greely and his bunch get their way, the darkies will all be free men. Every last, cursed one.”

Braxton had heard it all before, no need to argue, not when he needed funds.

The old man looked back. “You been writing to Henry’s baby girl?”

“Just the once.”

“Why not more?”

“She’s…”

“What? Too good for the likes of you?” He grinned. “What name did you give them?”

“Hightower.”

“That’s right, I remember now.”

“Beside the girl, how much you really need?”

“They cut me off at a grand.”

“You telling me he’s asking four for that girl?”

“No, sir, three.”

“What were you planning to do with the other thousand?”

“Turn it into five, so I could pay you back.”

“Whatever. You ready to do what I want?”

“That’s why I’m here.”

“Good.” The Bull of his woods rubbed his hands together then nodded. “I’ll take care of your markers, and buy that slave girl you want, but she’s mine. Until you wed one of Henry Buckmeyer’s daughters.”

Braxton hated the thought of his beauty living there with the old man, but what choice did he have? “You detest Henry that much, Father?”

For the longest, the man didn’t respond, then a sly grin etched his face. “I’ll have my revenge, Son. And you can have your high-priced, high-yeller gal—and a rich wife to boot.”

The next day, after buying his marker back with the one from his father, but before any deal made for the object of his burning desire, Braxton decided a bit of a change to be in order.

His father sat on the patio of his favorite Bourbon Street watering hole, sipping coffee, reading the same book from the night before.

Taking the open chair across from the old man, he caught the waiter’s attention and pointed to his father’s almost empty cup.

With his own steaming brew, dashed with a shot of whiskey, half swilled, he set the mug down hard onto the wrought-iron table. “I’ve decided to change our arrangement a little.”

The Bull looked up, marked his place with a finger, and pointed his book’s cover toward Braxton. “You read any of May Meriwether’s novels?”

“No, sir.”

“You’re a fool then.”

How many times had he heard that? Not doing this or that or doing that or this; made no difference. Always made him a fool for it. But he wasn’t the one carrying a thirty-year-old grudge. He huffed.

“If you say so, Father. Told your man to fetch my bags. I’m moving back into my old room.”

A snort, followed by a sip of java, eventually turned into a little smile. “Suppose you’re fancying a few days with my new slave.”

“I want a month.”

The man looked off. His eyes followed a full-skirted field hand down the street toting a bowl of cantaloupes balanced on her head. Once she turned the corner, he looked back.

“Let’s make it two, if….” He smiled big enough to reveal his gold-plated jaw tooth. “You toe the mark. I mean no cards, up every day with the sun, and tending to my business.”

Sixty days. Anything could happen in that much time, and what the old man didn’t know…except so connected, not much happened in this town that escaped him.