Daughters of the Heart (31 page)

“No, sir. I wouldn’t say much. Some, maybe, but not regular. Other than that day, I’ve only been drunk two other times.”

“Care to elaborate?”

Clay glanced at Gwen, who still appeared to be mulling him being in a saloon that had sporting ladies. He looked back to her father.

“Not really. But it sounds like you want me to, and you have a right to ask. I was sixteen the first time, a couple of the brothers let me tag along on a hog hunt with John and Caleb Wheeler.”

The man grimaced “Enough said, and the other time?”

“My twentieth birthday. Pa bought me a jug of prime squeezings. First and only time I saw my father even tipsy. After he went to bed, the brothers and I kept on nipping at it.”

“Nothing else happened in California you need to talk about?”

The no he wanted to announce got drowned out by his ma’s admonition to guard the truth. Only took three or four dozen switchings for her to make the point in a mighty way. The truth.

Best get it out now. He looked at Gwen then back to her father. “Could your daughter and I have a few minutes alone, sir?”

At first, Henry only stared then lifted his off shoulder. “Guess you two will be fine in here, sitting those chairs, right?” He looked at Gwen first then back.

His “Yes, sir” beat Gwen’s by a gnat slap. The words echoed. The silence threatened to deafen him, except his heart pounded so hard, surely she could hear it.

“What were you thinking?”

He scooted sideways. “About what?”

“Being in a saloon? With harlots!”

“I only went there to drink me a beer, nothing else.”

“Is that what I have to look forward to? You and Elijah getting yourselves a beer now and again with sporting ladies?”

“No, now forget about that. There’s more important things we need to discuss.”

“Like what?”

She was so beautiful, and he rather liked her being jealous, gave her profession of love credence. But he may be about to lose her forever. “First, if your pa agrees to us getting hitched, are you willing to come to California with me? Not for a visit, to live there.”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“Will you promise me that once we’re married you’ll not be going to any saloons, ever? I’m not opposed to a beer now and then. Daddy has his toddies, but you do not have to go to such a place as that, I’m sure.”

“Of course, but married or not, I have no interest in…uh...those type of…encounters.”

“Good.”

“So you agree? We’ll live in San Francisco.”

“How often will we come visit?”

“Don’t know, and can’t say, but it’s a month both ways. We can’t be running back to Texas every year.”

Her lips thinned, then she leaned forward a bit. “How many babies you want? Have you ever thought about it?”

“Not ten. Ma said she wouldn’t take for me or any of us, but if she had it to do it over again she’d would have had me quicker and stopped birthing babies sooner.”

For a second, her expression said she didn’t get it, then she smiled, but maybe still didn’t. “If I want to stop at say three, you good with that?”

“Sure, whatever.”

“Can we come back once every three years? I don’t think that’s too much to ask, is it, Clay? I can’t imagine living so far away and never seeing my family.”

He exhaled. Why was someone always wanting him to promise he’d do a thing when no one but God knew the future? “I’ll try, God willing, but traveling first class is the best, and it’s expensive. And with little ones….” He shrugged. “We can try, but please don’t hold me to it.”

“What do you know about traveling first class?”

There it was. He filled his lungs then exhaled slowly. “That’s the rub. Jethro and Mary Rachel paid the extra for me to travel first class. For two nights, I stayed in my cabin, so heartsick over your letter. Then when I finally did go to supper, I met this woman.”

So there it was. The reason
he’d been acting so pigheaded! And him making Gwendolyn think all along it was all her fault! Still, if only she hadn’t written that letter. “I see. Do you love her?”

“No. I actually tried to talk myself into it. But when you and your daddy showed up at Ma’s and you told me outright you loved me, I was sure then just like I’ve really always known…it’s you I love, and only you.”

“If you loved me, why would you take up with another woman? What’s her name?”

“DeStella Volker.”

“What kind of name is that?”

“German, except she was born in New York. A widow going home. Lost her husband in San Francisco. And I told you. Because you’d broke my heart, Gwen. I thought you’d married that dandy. Besides, I didn’t take up with her. Never said that.”

What did that mean? Either he’d been unfaithful, or he hadn’t. Except she’d sent that letter setting him free, told him her own self that he should find… “I hate it that I got so confused, sent that horrible letter. Can you forgive me?”

“Already have, Gwen. That’s behind us like I want this to be.”

“Well, if you didn’t…why are you telling me about her?” She’d messed everything up and wanted to spit. “DeStella, then. How old is she?”

Why had she put so much venom on the lady’s name? Wasn’t like she had any claim on Clay when he met the woman, and what possible difference did her age make? She needed to just hush up and let him say what he had to.

“Thirty-four, and well…that last night, I uh...I…well, I kissed her. Or rather, she kissed me, but I kissed her back.”

Oh, Lord, her own sins had found her out! How could she not tell him about Braxton now? “Is that all? No…uh…you know, going back to her room?”

“No, ma’am. I admit, I was sorely tempted, and she seemed plenty willing, but.…” He hiked his shoulder.

“What does that mean?”

“God…you. The kiss was bad enough, but I’ve been dreaming about you for so many years now.” His lips spread into a sheepish grin. “I only want you.”

Her chin dropped to her chest. Nothing fair about him baring his heart, confessing his and Widow Volker’s kiss. How could she not confess her own sin? “I’ve got to tell you, Clay, and tell you true. I kissed Braxton, too. So…if you can forgive me, I guess we’re even.”

She looked at him without raising her head.

His eyes flashed and his fist balled. “When did this happen?”

“At the hotel. Right before I found out his real name. He wanted me to run off with him.”

He leaned back and stared somewhere over her head. She hated the pain she’d caused him, but he should never have run off with Elijah, either. Still, she should never have gone to New Orleans. “I love you, Clayton Butterfield Briggs.”

He lowered his gaze. His eyes calmed, still pained, but not on fire. “I didn’t even know you knew my whole name. Can’t recall ever telling you.”

The change of subject relieved her enough to grin. “Well, silly. You’ve got sisters and a mother who loves bragging on you. I’ve been knowing every little detail about your life for a long time.”

“Been spying on me, huh.” He picked his hat up and twirled it. “I like that, but tell me something, Gwendolyn Belle Buckmeyer. Is every smooth-talking fancy man who comes along going to turn your head?”

“No, no, no, a thousand times no! At first, I only made eyes at Braxton to see how you’d react. I loved it all to pieces when you came back and didn’t let Daddy run you off. Going all the way home then coming right back.” She leaned forward. “I promise for sure and certain, I’ll love no one but you all my days.”

Clay slipped off his chair and knelt on one knee. “Will you marry me, sweet Gwendolyn? Will you be my wife, birth my babies, and grow old with me?”

Tears filled her eyes and ran down her cheeks. “Yes, yes, yes! A thousand times yes!”

He took her hand, stood, then pulled her to her feet. Of their own her arms embraced him, and he held her tight.

A light double tap then the door swung open. Mama’s jaw fell open, her Daddy glared. “Gwendolyn Belle.”

She pushed Clay back a step. “He asked me! We’re getting married! Oh, Daddy, I’m sorry, but can we? Will you let us, please? It was just one little hug, we –”

Clay turned around. “Sir, it was all my fault. We love each other.”

“Hold it right there.” Henry hoped his horse-trading face held firm. “May, would you be so kind as to escort our daughter out. I need a word with Mister Briggs.”

She bumped his shoulder rather hard as she stepped forward and took Gwen’s hand. “Come on, baby. Let’s see if Miss Jewel needs any help.”

Gwen pouted as she let her mama pull her out, but kept her tongue where it belonged. His second daughter didn’t take after Sue as much as Mary Rachel, but she carried that single focus trait. Once his ladies had left and closed the door behind them, he nodded toward the far wingback then eased around his desk.

“I’m sorry, sir. Like I said, it was my –”

“You’re repeating yourself, Son. Apology accepted.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Now, if I do give you two my blessing, and you run off to California, how are you planning on supporting my daughter?”

“We…uh…I mean Elijah and me. We’d been splitting our time between the mine, the dairy, and the foundry, sir. He pays me good wages, sir. Plus, I’ve got my percentage of the planter money coming, and we’re working on several other inventions that I’ve helped with. There’ll be gold and silver aplenty.”

“You two going to be living in a wagon? Or the mining camp? Or dairy barn? Where you planning on hanging your hat?”

“Haven’t thought of that, sir, but Jethro and Mary Rachel have a huge home. Elijah has a regular room there, and they put me in the one next to his. If not there, then we can build one or rent for now.” The boy scooted out to the edge of his seat. “Sir, I haven’t told Ma or Gwen what I’m thinking. You know how a woman can take a plan and turn it into a promise.”

A chuckle escaped, did he ever. “Yes. What of it?”

“I figure in three—no more than four years—we can return to Texas with enough money to build Gwendolyn her dream home on that bluff south of here. Or if you’d rather, I’ve got my share of Pa’s land. No papers drawn up just yet, but he split it equal among us, except Jake and the others get the farm land, me and the girls timber, but that’s fine with me.”

“I see.”

“We could build on that. Either way, Texas is home. I plan on coming back, but not with my hat in hand and no gold in my pockets.”

Love for his baby tempted him to tell the boy that his daughter had all the money they’d ever need, but he admired the young man and his plan. Especially the part about coming back to Texas to raise his family. If only Mary Rachel and her Jethro thought the same. Still, best if Clay made it on his own.

The Judge thought Henry was marrying Sue for her money until he showed the old bird otherwise. Guess young Mister Briggs didn’t want it gossiped he’d married Gwen for hers.

“Do you love her, Son?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is it necessary to tell you we’ll kill you dead and feed you to the hogs if you ever hurt her?”

“No, sir. I wouldn’t expect anything else.”

He waved him out. “Tell May I need her.”

The boy stood. “Sir, do we have your blessing then?”

“Not yet. We’ll talk more after supper.”

“Yes, sir, and if you would be so kind to keep my plans between us men.”

He nodded. “A married couple shouldn’t have secrets.”

“Yes, sir, but I’d like to tell her in my own way and in my own time.”

He flicked his hand, and the boy took his leave. He leaned back in his chair—if only he could have kept them all babies.

A chill pulled his attention to the fireplace. It needed tending. Once he kneeled at the hearth, the door opened.

May marched in with her arm around Sofia. “Henry, you need to hear what this, what the young woman is saying.”

“Have a seat. I’m listening.” He stirred the dying embers then put the last three slabs of oak on the iron rack. Houston needed to fill his box, probably all of them. Perhaps more so, the boy needed a switching or twelve to remind him of his chores.

His beautiful wife put her hands on her hips. “Go ahead. Tell him.”

“Yes, ma’am. Well…uh…Mister Bull…he’s been reading all of Miss May’s books. And he told Bubba that he was a fool for not doing the same.”

Henry stood, dusted his hands, then helped May ease into the wingback he preferred, but then if she’d taken his chair—her normal seat—that would have put him next to the girl. He grinned on the inside but didn’t dare let any of it show. Her jealousy over his indiscretion some forty years ago proved to be somewhat sweet.

“Interesting. Is that all?”

“No, sir. Also, he be telling Bubba that you have to know your enemy if you’re going to defeat him. He also reads that Chinesey war book a lot.”

“
The Art of War
by Sun Tzu?”

“Yes, sir. That’s the one I’m talking about. Bubba said old Bull made him read it more than once when he were coming up.”

Was dueling legal in Louisiana?

Have mercy, Lord. Defeat all the plans of those who plot against me and mine. He gave the girl a thank you nod then looked to May. “I need a word.”

She turned to Sofia. “Tell him who taught you to read.”

The girl grinned. The exact same smile he remembered from so long ago.

“My Auntie Tess, taught me of a Sunday down to the Congo Square before the music got to going real good. Me and her would hide out, and she’d drill me on my letters. She scared me good not to ever tell, and I never did.”

“That’s good.”

“But Miss Jewel, she been telling me you’ve bought all the darkies here on your place except her and Mister Jean Paul, and then gave them their own selves for nothing. Is that true, sir?”

“Yes.” He raised his left shoulder, the right had been paining him some with the cold snap.

“Think maybe if I was to give you the coins, you could buy me from old Bull?”

“How much money do you have?”

“Fifty-two Double Eagles, plus some silver and a five-dollar piece. Bubba say he only pay three thousand for me. Is what I got enough?”

The amount certainly surprised him. Over a thousand. But if Bull knew he was involved, or even thought that it was his own money…well, he’d think on it. “Might be. Where’d you get that much money?”

“Bubba only took half of the blood money, and left me guarding the rest when he went off to meet them Comancheros. He give me a gun, too, even though he made me promise I wouldn’t shoot no one. I told him I never could shoot no one anyway.”

Mercy. He sure could right now. Bull and his lying son, too, if he was still alive. And maybe while he was at it, Elijah and Clay. “Let me think on it. Might be a way to trick old Bull into letting us buy your freedom with his own money.”

“That be wonderful, Mister Henry.”

He flicked his fingers toward the door. “Thank you.”

The girl jumped to her feet. “You are surely welcome, sir. Miss Jewel says you’re a saint, and Miss May here is even nicer.” She smiled at his wife. “Thank you, ma’am.”