Flight of Fancy: Cora's Daughters (34 page)

“Got nothin’ right now to offa’ a woman like that.”

Broc’s eyes squinted and he grinned as he silently contemplated his words, after a considerable moment of pondering he spoke his mind.

“Ohhh, I don’t know ‘bout that, a man with eighty acres, a foremen at that, just might be able to turn her head.”

Boaz gulped, his eyes widened.

Two glasses and a bottle was set before them, Broc picked it up, poured for Boaz and then himself, “What you say, shall we drink to that?” Smiling bright, Boaz lifted his, “Yes sa’ boss, yes sa’!” He grinned and did what he saw Broc do, tossing his drink down his throat.The liquid set his throat on fire, cutting off his next breath.

Broc tossed his head back exploding into laughter, pounding on Boaz’s back to help clear his tight airway. “You’ll get used to that.”

Boaz shook his head, eyes tearing up - after taking several deep breaths and swallowing to try and soothe the burning, “No sa’, I’m thankin’ that be m’firs’ and m’las’!”

“You mus’ admit, it takes the chill off your bones.”

“Yes sa’, I’m feelin’ that heat clean to m’feet, tha’s fo’sho.”

Broc sighed, looking around once more, “I don’t know about you, but, don’t seem to be no sign of that Pierre.” After scanning the room further, he turned his attention back to his new foreman, “Tell me Boaz, what you think about him?”

While it had been true that Boaz had never let alcohol pass his lips before, and true that he had a very low resistance to it and was certainly feeling the effects of it already, he still had his good sense.

“Boss, I thanks ya’ for the land – I thanks ya’ for makin’ me foremen…” and once more, shaking his head, “…my daddy tell me, I wanna make it, live long – keep my tongue when it come ta’white man and his bidness.”

Broc stood a few moments letting that bit of information pass through his mind. Standing tall, he poured himself a second drink from the bottle. “I can see why yer’daddy would say such a thing. I live in the same world you do - he right. With me, working for me, no such caution needed. Just… keep an eye on him, will you?”

“Yes sa’ boss, I’ah do that.”

“We’ll head back – pray for the rain to stop. I made you foreman, because I need to come back tomorrow to hire on more. I need you to keep the building going while I’m away.”

“I’ah do m’bes’ boss – I’ah do m’bes’ – even if I hafta’ do it myself.”

“Any man unwillin’ to follow yer’ lead, need to find work elsewhere, simple as that.” Broc planted that seed on him. He could tell that Boaz was a serious and hardworking man. He was just the type of man – he prayed he could find a few more like. Only
he
knew, that all of this, was just the beginning.

Not far from the building site, hidden on Broc’s land in a densely wooded area - five men conspired against him.

“We soakin’ wet an’ freezin’ out here! You find where he keepin’ his gold?” One of the four men hiding out, asked Pierre.

“Man buy that much land, materials, hirin’ and paying what he do, must be holdin’ a lot’o’gold.”

“I’ve no time to search. We have been kept busy.”

“What about night, when all sleepin’?” Another asked.

“This man, he is no fool. I mus’ tread careful. Make up your minds, do you wish this land and the gold, or just the gold? Me, I want it all. I must find the deed – the papers first-…”

“Kill him already! Then we have the land, the gold!”

“Idiot! He is not a fool - we must wait! Once the barn is built and the house completed,
then
we kill them all, then we take it.”

“Easy for you to say, you warm and dry!” Another complained.

“Your laziness keeps you cold and wet! I tell you all, ask for work, help us build, then… we take it from him!”

Each of the four looked at each other.

“In the morning, two of you ride in, say you hear from town, he might need help - ask for a job. Pull straws to see who first. Two days later, two more. He needs the help, he will hire you. But we must not be seen together or act as if we know one another,” Pierre stood. “I must get back.”

They were blessed the next day with the sun – it came out warm, gloriously bright as if this was the beginning of spring and not fall leading to winter.

Broc stood before everyone in the cook-tent as they were finishing up breakfast, getting ready to start the day.

“I’m heading to town, more hands are needed, at this pace, we’ll never reach my goals.”

“While gone, if you need anything, see Boaz – he’s foremen here now-…”

“What…” Pierre stood, stunned, interrupting, “…foremen? What does he know? I will step in and see to things while-…”

Cutting him off, Broc showed them all his tolerance level.

“You… sir… will ride to town with me. I’ll be looking to replace you.” Broc’s immediate action to let him go, stunned him, causing him to stammer, “Wha – I – jus’ I only meant - you will trust all you have to do, to this - this darkie – when I am here?”

Fire burning hot and fierce ignited within Broc - he instantly and absolutely hated this man. His mind immediately conjured slitting his throat – but one couldn’t kill a man just because one disliked him.

While it was true that French blood flowed through his own veins, it was the Irish that controlled his heart, his thinking, his soul.

The Irish that had worked alongside the black man in the fields – the Irish, who had felt the sting of the whip – the Irish, whom had endured the scorn, ridicule and abuse of men like him – declaring them dumb – worthless and good for nothing more than death.

Just as the black men beside them had suffered.

“Get off my land. Get off quickly. Get off before you die.”

The men sitting in witness to it were frozen stiff, stunned. A riot of emotions coursed through them all. One clear discovery was that they knew beyond any doubt, a loyalty to Broc was growing – if they had any chance at all – it would be with him. Also, his word was law – he was the boss and would take no correction or interruptions of how he chose to manifest his ideas of what he was doing. 

The Frenchmen stood stunned as well.

Before he could guard his reaction, it was there clear for all to see, Broc had a new enemy. Steaming, Pierre demanded, “You let me go, because I tell you truths? Hmph – very well - my pay? I have put much into this place.”

“Get your things, all that you came with. Mount your horse, I will escort you from my land back to town, there … you will get what I owe you.”

Nostrils flared, Pierre strode from the cook-tent to collect his things – his mind reeling while trying to formulate a plan to contact the others now that he had been fired. One thing was certain, he would get this man back for such humiliation.

Broc stood with silence around him.

“Boss?” Boaz spoke out.

Broc turned his eyes to him, “We ain’ seen the las’ o’him. He gone be back, an’ it ain’t go be t’beg yo’ pardon.”

Broc knew that to be true, and addressed every man before him.

“As of now, if you cannot shoot, it is time to learn. If you cannot fight, you will die. I suggest, each learn - use whatever can be a weapon … or …die. That is, and will always be, the way of this land.” He paused to let that sink in, because he knew as well as they did, it very well might come to that. “Know this, if you want to stay on here to grow, work and live. You must protect me, my land… my family when they arrive. You don’t, where then, will you go?” He paused once more to let it sink in. Resuming with, “By doing that, you protect yer’selves – and know this, I will do the same. No matter what color of the man you face, if he threatens what we buildin’ – he is our enemy and you should treat him as such. Do that, you can plan on bringing yer’ families here. As of right now, each of you will get four acres of yer’ own, to build on – live on and all I want in return, is yer’ loyalty. I mean - you fight to the death, to protect what will one day be… your home – our home.”

None of the men needed to be told what they were up against. All of them knew that to survive – there would be times when they would face a life and death battle. Because of the land they each could have, and the prospect of bringing family – it was too much to lose not to up their aggression to maintain it.

Broc gave each of them something worthy to fight for, no real man could turn it down.

Each of them eagerly agreed.

Rory spoke up, “Long as I am here, I will stand with you, until it is time for me to leave. You have my word. Therefore, as far as the land goes, part it up between the others, I just want my pay.”

“Fair enough.” Broc addressed Rory. Besides, the boy had been on his mind a long time since his talks with his older brother, Leon McNeil. By Rory stepping forward to work for him, he’d already proven himself to be a leader of sorts, especially considering his family’s wealth, there was truly no need for him to be there. Yet, there he stood. Yes, Broc had other plans for him. As soon as he established a home, a place there in the north, he would then start on what his mind was building to come in the south.

There was no way that he was putting to waste all that he knew and had learned from living in the south. There was money to be made there – he had every intention of making his – thanks to Asiza.

Back to the others, “I’m needin’ another trip to town, hirin’ on more. I’ll be bringin’ back weapons – to arm each of you. With that, more wood, the next lot should be done. In my absence, watch your backs.” 

It wasn’t long before all the men stood watching Broc mount his horse along with the Frenchmen Pierre.

Broc nodded towards the trail to town, “Ride… stay in front. Try anything… I’ah kill you – strip you down and make use of every piece of shite you think you own. Ride.”

Burning with hatred, Pierre turned his horse about and clicked his tongue to get the animal moving. He knew it was too early in the game to blow the plans he had.

Against this man – alone – he knew he would lose. As for the plan, he tried one more time, “There are few, to no jobs. All right, if you trust this black man, I will accept.” He spoke up, riding up front.

“No thank you – you see, I don’t trust you, don’t want what I can’nah trust.”

“But, you and I – we are the same.”

“You and I, nothin’ alike.” Broc simmered low.

Pierre shook his head, “You wish to be with the black man, a slave no doubt.”

“Next word you say, may get you killed Frenchy. I catch you on my land, I’ah kill you, faster than you can blink.”

They rode from then on with silence between them.

Pierre would get to town, get his pay and be on his way. He would wait until he was certain the coast was clear before heading back and joining the others. He’d be damned if he would live in the woods as his conspirators had. With his return, he would gather the two men left, return to town, get a room and then, the next day, the other two could head back to get hired on. For the most part, it was a waiting, hunting game until the time was right. Stay off his land he would, because the dead owned nothing and he wanted it all.

In town once more, Broc – with building something grand on his mind, made his way to the land office. When he left, he’d more than doubled the land he now owned, rounding it off to nine hundred acres. From there, he went to the merchant and ordered a house load of furniture. A fancy bedroom set, a living room set of furniture any woman could be proud of, fine china and everything needed for cooking. He couldn’t help but remember his promise to her about the pots and pans. Last, a feminine, elegant slipper bath fit for a queen.

An hour of his time was spent meeting with Mr. McNeil once again. He was a man full of information – connection. Even though his father, “adopted father” was out of the country at the moment, he had access and knowledge – doing what he could to set Broc up.

After that meeting, Broc followed more of his advice and went where he could make changes in his appearance.

He couldn’t continue on looking like a buckskin-clad bounty hunter. He needed to focus on looking more a business man, one to respect. No one needed to know how ruthless he could be, would be - to stake his new lot in life.

As an Irishman, with a Negro wife, two beings considered the lowest of beings – he had no choice but to be uncompromising in his pursuits. Driven to force those around them, to accept them. After all, the man who holds the gold, calls the shots. He was planning to be that man – willing to do anything to maintain it… and he meant -
anything
. He secretly admired this man he was hearing so much about, Maynard Ramsey Webster, young Rory’s father.

He also admired the Negro man, Leon McNeil who was doing all he could to help him stabilize his life – in the north and the south.

The only problem he foresaw that might not be easy to solve, was what his wife would think and say if and when she found out what he was up to. He remembered how she’d reacted about the gold and bounties he’d brought in.

He shook all of that off – he needed to stay focused and worry over the crossing when he reached that bridge.