Daughters of the Heart (3 page)

“Come in.”

She stuck her head through a narrow opening. “Who’s here?”

“I don’t know. Someone to see Daddy, I guess.”

“Houston said the guy came calling on you.”

“That boy. Daddy needs to tan his hide. He’s all time spreading rumors. Maybe we ought to take things into our own hands and wash his mouth out with lye soap until he stops.”

“Now there’s an idea.” She stepped in and waved the door toward shut but never let go of it. “Come on. Let’s go see who it is.”

“No, I don’t much cotton to that idea. Not up to meeting someone new.”

“Fine, but don’t be asking me any questions.”

Gwen shook her head then waved her off. Cecelia had to smile. She couldn’t help it if she hated keeping news to herself. Mercy, holding stuff in would hurt a body. Everyone knew that.

She eased on downstairs, loafed around the kitchen, keeping out of Mammy’s way and only slipping one more snap until her father’s library door swung open. She took two steps then froze.

Lord above have mercy on her soul! The man’s sky blue eyes met hers. For a heartbeat, she stared into the windows of his soul.

Such an awesome sight! The urge to dive in almost overwhelmed her, but what a good thing she didn’t. If she ever gave in, she may never come out again.

Her father stepped toward her. “Cecelia! Come here, sweetness, this is Elijah Eversole, Jethro and Mary’s partner. He’s going to build me a stream engine for the mill.”

She blinked, and the man looked away. “Good to meet you, sir.” She smiled, but not too big. Hopefully, her father had not seen her make a fool of herself. Him and his stupid no-courting-until-you-were-eighteen rule. 

And just that day, she’d promised to abide by it. 

The meal’s aromas teased Elijah’s saliva
glands almost as much as the Buckmeyer girls’ beauty tempted his eyes. He constantly had to make himself not stare across the table now that they had taken their seats.

The light-skinned Negro man sitting next to him extended his hand. Elijah realized everyone at the table did the same to the persons beside them.

Henry nodded to Elijah’s right. “Bart, I believe it’s your turn to pray.”

“Yes, sir.” The boy stood. “Lord! Dank You for runnin’ off dat dold digger Tlay! And…uh…well, da grub smells great so bless Mamm—I mean Miss Jewel for tookin’ it! And…uh...danks for…uh all of it. Amen.”

The young woman on the other side of his neighbor spoke up. “Bartholomew Baylor, you’ve been doing so well with your hard C sounds. Remember? Kkk. Kkk. Kkk. Then you go and forget it when you’re talking to God.”

“Tan I have dose taters?”

The youngest beauty shook her head and rolled her eyes. “He’s hopeless, Miss Laura.” 

Elijah couldn’t keep from smiling. The oldest young lady, if he had it right, Gwendolyn—what a beautiful name—shot the boy daggers, but Cecelia appeared to be having trouble not laughing at young Bart.”

The dishes started flying around the table, and he concentrated on filling his plate to sate all that slobbering. He still stole glances at the sisters every chance though. They had beautiful smiles.

What gorgeous creatures, the Buckmeyer girls. Even the youngest was obviously blooming into quite the beauty herself.

But then according to Mary their mother was even prettier.

“Bart?”

“Yes, Untle.”

“Who gave you the idea that Mister Clay had ulterior motives?”

“What?”

The young girl sitting next to him slung an elbow. “Uncle Henry’s asking why you called Mister Clay a gold digger.”

“Well, aint he?”

“No, his family is plenty comfortable. Now who gave you the idea he was after Gwen’s money and not her heart?”

The boy shrugged and put his chin on his chest.

The young man who sat on the other side of Bart jumped to his feet. “It were me, Pa. I spotted it first off that he were only after our money! Why else would he want Gwendolyn?”

“Houston! Daddy!” Gwen pointed her fork at the malefactor. “You need to whip that boy! He’s such a brat.”

“Now, Gwendolyn. Let’s not be rash.” The man turned back to his son. “So, Houston, is it your contention then that your mother was an ugly lady?”

“Oh, Heavens no, Pa. I’ve seen her pictures, and she was very beautiful. Only lady I’ve ever seen more handsome than Mother Sue is Mama May.” He smiled like he’d found the correct answer that would keep corporal punishment at bay.

Elijah looked to the boy’s father who nodded.

“My library after supper, young man. I admire you for speaking up for Bart, but we guard the truth in this house.”

“What? Pa, why? I didn’t tell no lie.”

“Eat, Son, we’ll talk about it then.”

The boy slumped back in his chair then threw his sister an I’ll-get-you look.

The clan’s patriarch squared off toward Elijah. “Did you get settled in? Anything you need?”

“Yes, sir, and no, don’t need a thing. The room is real nice.”

Gwen, who sat next to her father, spoke up before the man could say more. “It belonged to Levi and Rose before they built their own house.”

“That’s the Texas Ranger, right?”

“Yes, but he hardly ever goes off anymore.” Cecelia beat her sister with an answer, then stared at him a bit. Though desperately wanting to match her gaze, he made himself take a bite of the best roast beef he’d eaten in…maybe ever.

Besides, he’d never purposely disrespect the man or his daughters.

But when he looked up, she studied her own plate, wearing a rather bemused expression.

Oh, Lord, could You have made her lips more kissable?

She met his eyes. “He and Wallace traded the Comanche for Rose, then she and Levi fell in love.”

The youngest pretty spoke up. “Mama wrote a book about it, their romance. It’s called
The Ranger
if you want to read it.”

“Yes, I already have. I’m looking forward to meeting him and Wallace.” Elijah leaned out in the direction of the girl’s stepmother. “Mary loaned me
The Granger
as well. I sure enjoyed reading both. You’re quite the novelist, Mis’ess Buckmeyer.”

“Thank you, Elijah. And you’re welcomed to call me May.”

“Oh no, wouldn’t dream of it, ma’am.”

The conversation increased as the scrumptious meal decreased. Elijah enjoyed the interaction between the sisters and their baby brother once he finished eating.

His mother handed him over to Gwendolyn then on down the line of beauties. The youngest Buckmeyer seemed to love his sisters and had a great time getting passed from one to the other.

Gave Elijah a great opportunity to feast his eyes on the young ladies, and he enjoyed that even more than the food. How was he ever going to choose between the two older sisters, or should he focus on Gwendolyn? Cecelia certainly exhibited many fine qualities. But then could he get either to agree to wed?

And what about their father?

Would he give either’s hand?

Cecelia nuzzled Crockett’s neck, then turned him a bit and glanced up. Elijah stared at Gwen. She buried her face in her baby brother’s neck. Good gracious, stop it. She loved her sister, and definitely would not allow any fool man to come between them.

Mercy, he wasn’t even a suitor. He’d come to build a steam engine.

Who wanted a Californian anyway? No one in Texas. She was Texas born and bred and loved it! Long live the Lone Star State! She kissed the baby’s cheek. How could he be so soft and sweet? She just wanted to love him all up.

His dark hair with those blue eyes surely made him the most handsome baby boy west of the Mississippi.

He stretched out his hand and leaned toward Bonnie. “Her.” He grinned back at Cecelia, teasing her. “Me want me BonNEE!”

She twisted him away from the twelve-year-old’s reach. Crockett squealed, then giggled when she blew her lips against his neck then handed him off. Not even two, and he already played them all like a virtuoso.

Bound to be a heartbreaker, the little booger couldn’t be loved more, leastwise not by her.

She glanced at Elijah. Speaking of breaking hearts, how no young woman had snapped him up, she’d never know. He probably left a string of them back in the Gold Rush state.

He met her gaze. Her heart flipped then thundered. Why was he looking at her? She wasn’t even old enough to be courted. Didn’t he know that? Or maybe he fit the bill as the type of man her daddy warned her and her sisters about?

Still, she couldn’t stop from smiling. He glanced to her daddy, and she followed his lead, willing him to quiz Mister Eversole.

Or had he already?

“Elijah.”

“Yes, sir?”

“You up to getting started in the morning?”

“Yes, sir. The boiler should be here in a day or two, and I’d like to work out where you’re wanting to put it. Needs to be just right. Two ton of iron isn’t that easy to toss around.”

“True.”

For the next bit, the two of them discussed the saw mill. Not one time did her father even start to ask any of the questions Cecelia wanted him to. Boiler this, and iron that. Yes, he could cast any part he wanted.

Made her want to scream, ask him, Daddy! Has he got someone back home? Is he a Christian man? Come on, get to the good stuff.

Then her father stood. “Elijah, normally as a guest, I’d give you a pass, but since you’re going to be here for a while, the ladies cook, and we clean up.”

The man jumped to his feet. “Small price to pay for such a fantastic meal. I’m happy to help, sir.”

Cecelia started to offer to take his place, but then that would leave him in there alone with her sister. And that just would not do. Gwen never volunteered for anything that even came close to resembling work.

No, she’d let the handsome Elijah Eversole go on off to his kitchen duties with the menfolk. She needed a word with her sister.

She lingered at the table, waiting to get Gwen alone, but then she left with Mother to look at something she wanted her to embroider for Crockett. One thing her sister could do and loved doing was needle work. Laura had taught her, and she truly excelled.

So, Cecelia hung around a little more hoping for bit of time with Mister Eversole.

Her father dashed those plans, taking her subject straight from the kitchen to his office then monopolized him until staying at the table all alone seemed ridiculous, even to her. She meandered up to her room.

How to broach the topic of the debonair houseguest with her sister consumed her thoughts. Though she kept starting over, no good intro came.

Maybe she’d write Mary Rachel a letter. Taking her stationery Mother had insisted she have monogramed in New York from the desk drawer, she sat and opened the inkwell. She dipped her pen and put it to paper.

Dear Mary
…her oldest sister knew Elijah well, should she ask her about him?
Elijah has arrived. He’s down with Daddy now
. She sat back in her chair.

After a few hoots of the old owl out in the tree by her window, she leaned forward again and dipped the tip of her new pen.
Cecelia Belle Eversole. CeCe Eversole. Mis’ess Elijah Eversole.

The double E looked beautiful. She loved the flourishes they allowed.
Mis’ess Cecelia Eversole.
She liked the S’es alliteration, too. Her first name proved a fit—Gwendolyn Eversole—oh, yes, much better than her sister’s.

Again and again, she wrote it. Hers flowed right into his and looked so pretty. She’d need a plan if she were to have him. And one flitted into her conscious, a good one.

But then a fly flew right into the ointment of her daydream and flapped its tiny wings to beat the band. Wait. She could enlist help.

Upon reflection, getting Bonnie—or Heaven forbid, Houston—to comply wouldn’t be that hard. Would it? Shouldn’t be. So, she tried her new signature again and again, filling the page with and without her middle name.

The Carol didn’t really sound appropriate, but it did still look nice.

Tomorrow! What a great day it promised to be.