Authors: Rachel Cartwright
Galveston: Between Wind And Water (A Historical Literary Fiction Novel Filled with Romance and Drama) (34 page)
“So convinced of the wrong that your family had brought upon my uncle by destroying almost any chance he would have of fathering a family, I was determined to inflict suffering on you as he instructed. In thought, my resolve seemed unwavering until I met you—this intense and passionate man— and learned of the terrible tragedy that your family suffered during those awful years of the war. Should you really be made to pay as a man for the impulsive deed of a boy who only acted out sheer terror for the protection for his mother’s life and his own?
You know my answer then, dearest.
In the short time we have been together, I have been comforted, at least, by the thought that loving you was the beginning of a new life, a great passion spanning the vast space of love’s eternity, a woman and man joined in perfect freedom from the chains of family burden and history.
I shall leave my uncle and Society soon for I fear I may someday suffer the consequences of his ever-growing zeal. He speaks of an enlightened one already born, perhaps in Europe, who will rise from humble beginnings to transform mankind through war and chaos into a new being unlike any before him. I fear these hateful men of eternal wrath and destruction, and I will have no part in giving birth to their creed.
So, my love, until the soft warmth of forgiveness flushes out the cold, cruel poisons in your blood, I know that you can never truly love me in return. When I have taken new, private accommodations outside of Galveston, I will call for you, to help heal the wounds left open for far too many years. I wait for you then, my love, for the storm in your soul to pass.
Love for now and always,
Rebecca”
The sun was whipping up a thick heat in the street. Bret wiped the sweat from his forehead and for a few moments forgot about the tears streaming down from the sides of his eyes.
The memory of Rebecca’s room—the open window with the faint oleander-scented breeze on that warm afternoon—had haunted him as a lost refuge from sorrow, but like all those uncertain, mistaken moments, it drifted way on the wind into the cloudless certainty of Gabrielle’s soft, blue eyes.
“Bret!”
The sound of Gabrielle’s voice coming from the direction of the hotel startled him. He stuffed the second sheet into the inside pocket of his driving jacket. He spun around to face the front doors.
“Just another minute, darling,” she called. “The porter is bringing down the last of our bags now.”
Bret tipped his hat and smiled.
“Bret?” She took a few steps toward the front stairs of the hotel. “Are you all right? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”
He glanced away from her for a moment to clear his throat. “The sun, honey.” He pulled the visor of his cap to shade his eyes. He turned and smiled.
Gabrielle settled into the seat beside him and smoothed the flounces of her skirt with a deft hand. “Lord, it’s a scorcher today. If we stay out here much longer I’m surely going to fade away like a spirit. Now, get a hurry on or we’ll be late.”
She checked her lipstick and rouge in her small ivory framed vanity mirror. “Are you sure she’s ready to ride on her own?”
“She’s been taught by the best lady’s riding instructor in town. Hasn’t she, dear?”
“That’s true but your flattery doesn’t make me feel any better. Now drive or we’ll be late.”
Bret shifted into gear and the vehicle jerked forward. As the wheels turned, he was no longer disturbed by the longing to open his heart and let bleed all the dark blood it held before.
“Look at her go, my friend!” Captain Anthony Lucas said, pointing up into the air. “God almighty! What a sight!” He laughed and smoothed his thin moustache. “I should have worn a darker suit.”
Bret whistled and threw his hat into the air. “C’mon Captain!” he slapped his business partner on the shoulder. “Race you back to the others before your new white suit changes color.”
The two men ran back another hundred feet from their observation point near the Spindletop oil well to where portly Patillo Higgins squinted anxiously through his spectacles as he stood beside Gabrielle, Philip and Verna at the front of the local crowd of onlookers and curiosity seekers.
Emily sat tall in Chestnut’s saddle and pointed up at the erupting gusher blanketing the sky with its black gold.
“You were right Luchich!” Mr. Higgins gushed, hugging the captain like a long-lost brother. “And after they all said we were fools wasting our time and money. You did it!” He turned and shook hands with the gentlemen in the crowd.
“We all did it,” the captain said, shaking Bret’s hand. “Without your faith none of us would be standing here today.”
“Faith can do wonders, sir, but don’t forget our money,” Philip chipped in. “I think that may have helped somewhat too.”
All of them shared the laugh and shook hands again.
“Right you are, Mr. Harper,” the captain acknowledged and shook his hand. “And you can thank your friend Bret here for convincing you to stay and invest your savings with—”
“Look!” Gabrielle shouted, “It’s going higher still! If only my father—” She lowered her head for a moment and covered her mouth.
The men turned back toward the gushing oil well. Judging by the height of the oil rig, Bret figured the height of the plume to reach over two hundred feet.
And where there’s one there’s . . .
He felt the weight of the past being expelled in the spectacular spray of black crude against the brilliant, blue Texas sky.
Bret took Gabrielle’s hand and, bringing her fingers to his lips, kissed them once, then twice. “I love you indeed, Mrs. McGowan, for only your infinite patience and gracious character could have allowed a fool so long to finally prove it.”
Gabrielle’s eyes gleamed brighter than the solitaire diamond of her wedding ring. “Well, Mr. McGowan?” She stroked his cheek. “Not
that
much of a fool, to be sure. At least you finally had the good sense to ask me . . . and her.”
She looked up at Emily sitting proudly on Chestnut. “I’m so happy for all of us. Emily will be a wonderful big sister.”
Bret smiled up at their newly adopted daughter. So enthusiastic, energetic, and joyful.
Already so much like her mother . . . and the new century will be better because of them and the young women to follow.
He patted Chestnut’s flank. “How was the riding today, Emily?”
“Pretty good, Mr. McGowan. I’m still a little nervous, but Chestnut is a great horse. So strong to have survived the storm. I can’t thank Mrs. McGowan enough.”
“You can call us
Mother
and
Father
if you wish. Remember? We’d like that.”
She smiled and nodded as she wiped a tear. “ Okay . . . thanks Mother . . . and thanks Father!”
Bret smiled. He couldn’t wait for all of them to go riding together.
The crowd behind Gabrielle cheered as the shower of crude leapt even higher. Infused with the exhilaration of the moment, the warmth of her radiant smile beckoned to Bret like a light leading his way into a future whose foundation was being built where they stood. All that had come before had passed away with the dying wind and retreating water.
Bret placed his hand gently on the high waist of Gabrielle’s brown skirt and pressed softly against her now very shapely belly.
Gabrielle blushed. “Bret? There are people.” She playfully pushed his hand away. “You don’t have to call for the doctor yet. I’m fine.”
“Oh, you’re more than that, darlin’. Much more.”
She wet her lips. “Hmm hmm, well, we’ll see about
that
when we get home but for now, can you act like a gentleman in public?”
He beamed. If he had lost everything, she would still have gladly been his wife and helped rebuild a new life together.
Bret took his wife in his arms and kissed her long and lovingly on her moist, red lips.
Finishing their embrace, he reached down into her wicker picnic basket and brought out the last unbroken bottle of French champagne from the wine cellar of his destroyed home. Bret twisted the wire mesh off then popped the cork.
“To the
Lucas Gusher!
” He held the bubbling champagne bottle up in the air. “May she always rain down upon us!”
“The Lucas Gusher!” Mr. Higgins shouted. “Now pass that bottle around before it all spills on the ground! I don’t know how to get champagne out of the ground yet.”
Bret handed the frothing bottle to Captain Lucas, who took a long draft before passing it to Mr. Higgins.
Philip stood beside Bret. “I’m only sorry your friends aren’t here, Mr. McGowan. If they had listened to you at your party . . .” He looked back to the gusher. “Their families could have benefited from this.”
Bret stared down at the dark patch of champagne-soaked sand. Hadlee, Liam, Arley, the Colonel . . . all dead. And Rebecca? Lost with more than five thousand other souls.
God have mercy on them all.
He kicked dry sand over the spot. Caden had tried to poison him like a rat by lying to Gabrielle and giving her a mixture of thallium sulphate.
He looked back up at the gusher.
Ends up the crazy devil had the real life saver all the time in his coat pocket. Boiled roots from a shrub—Tabernanthe iboga. No sir. That’s the one thing he didn’t lie to Gabrielle about.
His new bride-to-be had also signed a sworn statement to the police that she’d heard Caden admit to killing Timothy. All of Bret’s charges were dropped and for the first time he could remember, he felt whole and clean again.
He had no need for his medicine anymore, freeing his mind and spirit of its contaminating influence once and for all.
Bret looked up into sky above the rig. “It could just as easily have been us. Nature doesn’t play favorites, and if she does, some who survived will wish they didn’t after going mad with the grief of it all.”
“And some won’t deny they thank the Lord for that,” Philip answered, taking the bottle from the captain. “As unchristian as that may sound, sir.”
Bret laughed. “Take a drink, man, and pass it around. Keeping a bottle of the best French champagne to yourself is the only unchristian thing I’m aware of.”
Philip smiled and took a long drink. “Ahh . . . Mr. McGowan. I only wish your parents could have been here to see this too. I know Lorena . . . excuse me, sir, I’m getting all choked up.”
He wiped the corner of his eye. “Your mother and father would have been so proud. I know they’re smiling down on you.”
Bret put his hand on his old friend’s shoulder. He had been but a child, a child deeply loved by his mother and father who had sacrificed everything so that their only son could grow and prosper to become the man he was today.
Finally, his conscience and soul at ease, he could let his parents rest and remember them with the gratitude and respect they deserved.
Philip took another drink and passed the bottle back to Mr. Higgins, whose hand was already extended, anticipating its return.
“What do you think, Captain?” Bret put his arm around Mr. Lucas’s shoulders. “How many you figure she’ll give us a day?”
Captain Lucas shook his head and chuckled. “All my calculations are extremely rough based on our drilling logs to date, but . . .” He shrugged. “Fully tapped, maybe eighty, ninety, even one hundred thousand barrels a day.”
Bret whistled and rolled his eyes up to the sky. The gusher pumped higher and higher still. “Lord. That much.”
“Only God knows, my friend, but one thing is for certain.” The captain brushed off the sleeves of his new white suit. “We rebuild a city and we rebuild our lives, but the world we knew will never be the same. Everything is going to be different now.”
Bret looked out on the horizon toward the Gulf of Mexico and held Gabrielle’s hand. He turned and smiled into her eyes. “It already is, my friend,” he said. “It already is.”
THE END
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