Daughters of the Heart (6 page)

Worked pretty well for her. Without being caught, throughout supper she kept taking little studies of the man from who knew where. She wouldn’t call him handsome really, not as good-looking as Elijah, for certain.

She looked a little longer during dessert, Mammy’s—she meant Miss Jewel, was she ever going to get used to the cook’s beautiful new name?—skillet apple pie seemed to keep him pretty focused.

But soon as he shoveled in the last bite, he glanced straight up at her. She went to Daddy’s conversation with May, feigning interest.

Actually, Braxton wasn’t bad looking either, in a rugged kind of way. She liked his square jaw and the cleft in his chin like Daddy’s. She’d heard that signified strength.

Oh, fiddles, what was she going on about?   was the better catch of the two. That was obvious. Really, just because he’d held her gaze then smiled? Where was he from anyway? And why had Daddy invited him to stay there?

Gracious.

“So where you from, Mister Hightower?”

“Well, been spending some time at the Capitol of late.”

“Austin? Really? It’s such a beautiful city, don’t you think so? Did you see the bat cave?” Mercy, take a breath, Gwendolyn Belle. He would think her addle-minded.

“No, ma’am. I’ve been to the nation’s Capitol, Washington D.C. I’m from New York.”

“Oh, I see. So who is it needs trees?”

“Everyone needs lumber. Father’s partners have plans for a dozen mills, but we need timber by the train loads.”

Humph. Big money man, Hightower probably had plenty of women swooning all over him in every state and territory he went. But if so, why would he flirt like that?

And why chance it right in front of her father, too. It’d be safe to call him daring. She liked that.

Or maybe he’d come hunting more than trees to cut down? Maybe he’d already talked to her father and mentioned that he might be in the market for a wife. She looked away and giggled.

No possibility of that, not with her father. If Braxton mentioned anything of the sort, Daddy’d have his shotgun out, chasing him the other way.

Certainly not having him for dinner!

             
Henry bid his two houseguests a goodnight
then strolled to his library, except May used it more than he did of late.

Perhaps he should reconsider the plans for his new home, make enough room for two desks or either get one of those double ones where he could face his bride while working.

Stopping at the door, he studied the dark-haired beauty as her feather pen worked its wonder on the stark white page. He loved watching her write, be so creative, and put out stories that women all around the world enjoyed.

How had he been so blessed to have two such wonderful women to wife?

She reached toward the inkwell, then must have spotted him for she looked up and smiled. “Ready for bed? I’m almost finished with this scene.”

“Anytime.” He eased into the wingback. “Got some pages for me to read?”

She handed him a few. “That would be wonderful. Bonnie isn’t telling me anything but ‘I love it, Mama.’ ”

He nodded, grinning, and took the offering then readjusted in the chair toward the light. He finished the last page and glanced up.

His wife stared, waiting it seemed. “Well, is it any good?”

He smiled then said in his best little boy voice. “I love it, Mama.”

Mercy, how he loved those smiles. “Oh, you!” She laughed. “Don’t do that. Are you being serious?”

He nodded. “Except…seems to me…” He looked off, hunting the exact right way to say it. Well, the word said the truth would set you free, so…. “I never fancied myself a pirate, but do I have to have a chicken feather in my hat?”

“No! You aren’t the Red Rooster.”

“Oh? Then who were you thinking of when you penned this line?” He held out the second page and scanned it then touched her neat cursive about mid-way. “I’ve killed seven men do you want to be number eight?”

“Oh. Hmm. Well, uh…oh, fine. I’ll change it, but my love, you’d make a grand swashbuckler, and I have promised the children. You’d be an even better president or king. Want any of those jobs?”

“I’d take king tomorrow. But that isn’t going to happen.”

“What about president of these United States? That is a definite possibility. You could. Do so much…for the whole country.”

“Oh, I’ve thought on it some. Even before Hightower showed up. But reality keeps nipping at my heels.”

“What reality? Anyone who knows you can see you’d make a great president, and we could…” She smiled. “Free all the slaves.”

“That’s the whole crux of it. The Whigs are breaking apart over that exact issue. Horace Greely’s clamoring for a new party, expressly for achieving just that. Put an end to it. And the Democrats are entrenched. Those who don’t see things our way would vilify me…us…in those rags of theirs.”

“So? No sticks or stones, only words… Didn’t your mama teach you anything?”

“Ask Jackson about how bad words can hurt.”

“But look at the good he did.”

He scooted to the edge of his chair. “How about Mary Rachel? Think she’d like her story to be splashed across front pages from San Francisco to New York? What kind of field day would they have with my killing…? Or worse, what if one of them searched your past and guessed about your parents? It doesn’t have to be true for some of them to put it in print.”

“But, Henry–”

“If just one of your cousins got hold of that... Nothing would stop them from getting their claws into you.”

She exhaled, obviously not pleased with his response.

Opening his desk drawer, she pulled out a silver dollar. “I’m not afraid of them or anybody else. Want to toss for it?” She flipped the coin. “Heads we run, tails we keep on thinking about.”

“What if it lands on its edge?”

“Then it’s an absolute no.”

“Let’s just call it tails, and we’ll keep on thinking on it. ’60 is a long way off.”

“Hey, who said we had to wait until then? Another chief executive gets elected in ’56.”

“Too soon. No, ’60 would be the earliest, and by then maybe you’d have Crockett weaned.” He grinned and winked. Hopefully, his calculations were accurate.

She smirked then a realization obviously dawned. “Perhaps.” She smiled then stood. “He’s spending the night with Gwendolyn.”

“Wonderful.” He held his hand out.

“Did you happen to notice the exchange between Braxton and our debutante?”

Of its own, his hand fell to his side. “No. What? Did he say anything? Is every single man a prospect I need to watch out for? And when are you talking about?”

“Nothing was said, but are you blind?”

“No.”

“Well, I assure you, she considers the man a prospect. They exchanged glances all through dinner. Really, sweetheart, you don’t think every single man who darkens our door is a prospect? Why, as beautiful as our daughters are –”

“But they’re still babies.”

“No. They are not. Anyway, Mister Buckmeyer, you told me you had read every one of my novels.”

“I have.”

“Didn’t you learn anything? It’s all there. And, I tell you true, it isn’t only the gents you need to be concerned with. Gwen and CeCe… Well, I may not spell it out exactly, but if you’d paid any attention, you could understand how love works.”

“Love? So now they’re in love?” How was he supposed to know these things? He’d only loved two women in his life who weren’t kin. “So should I shoot Braxton now or later?”

She shook her head. “Look, you cannot keep any of them under your wings forever. At first blush, Mister Hightower appears totally eligible, and if you like him, he could be the answer for our love triangle woes between the girls.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Still, I think it’d be wise to have a talk with him in the morning.”

“What about Elijah and Cecelia? Were they sparking, too?”

“Of course, but with a bit more subtlety. I’m certain, due to her not being of your courting age yet.”

He wasn’t sure about her tone. “What are you implying?”

“Darling, in some circles, Cecelia could already be considered an old maid –”

“But she’s barely seventeen.”

“Yes, sir, the ripe old age of seventeen. Many of my heroines are her age when they meet their true love. I mean, if there’s an interest, and if you approve of the young man, nothing says they have to get married next week.”

“Doesn’t mean they shouldn’t be. Talk to their fathers.”

“Your tenet is pretty strict.”

Was that his wife or daughter talking? “I like it fine.”

“She hates it, and so will Bonnie in a few years.”

He extended his hand, and she took it. “Shall we continue this conversation at a more convenient time?”

She scooted ahead and pulled him toward the bed.

Mercy, Lord, you have blessed me beyond measure.

Cecelia pushed herself off the floor, dusted off her dress then put her listening glass back in the linen cabinet.

Bless Mama May’s heart. Bless it, God. She twirled from the water closet then held her hands together on her chest with an imaginary bouquet. She’d be walking the aisle in no time. If she could just get Elijah to ask.

She eased on out of her room, strolled down the hall to Gwen’s, then tapped real light on the door and waited. Socked footfalls sounded before her sister’s pretty head appeared. “He just went to sleep, so be quiet.”

Cecelia watched Gwen throw a dozen and a half stitches, then the youngest Buckmeyer’s breathing slowed, and he rolled over on the bed, sleep-suckling.

Setting her needlework in her lap, she leaned in. “Well? What’d they say?”

“Mama May saw you and Braxton making eyes, and me and Elijah, too, after I was so careful. But on the good side, she took my hint, and started working on him about his stupid rule.”

“Did they say how long Mister Hightower is staying? If I have just a few days, I need to know.”

“No, didn’t mention anything about that, but Uncle Chester told Miss Jewel that Braxton is here for more than timber.”

Gwen smiled. “Like courting? Mama say anything to that?”

“Only talked like she knew it to be true. I’d say if he had come for timber only, he’s certainly altered his original intent. He may be…anyway, Uncle said he knows of a Hightower big into politics back east. He’s thinking Braxton is that man’s son and came to get Daddy to stand for office.”

“Really? Governor?”

“I don’t know, maybe in Washington.”

“Oh, he’d never leave Texas.”

“Uncle mentioned the Whig party splitting over slavery, claimed there’s a big time New York newspaper man who’s clamoring for emancipation.”

“Oh, well, Daddy would never move east, so let’s get back to Braxton Hightower and Elijah. You hear anything else?”

A light tap on the door silenced Cecelia. Gwen ordered her to see who it was with a look and a nod. Halfway there, the door slipped open. Bonnie’s cute little noggin appeared. She smiled then mouthed, is he asleep?

“See you tomorrow.” Elijah tipped his hat at both men as they rode out of the barn. He didn’t care much for Hightower and Henry riding off together. He’d noted clear enough the looks the girls had been throwing the man’s way.

Gwen, he didn’t mind too much, but what if things didn’t work out with him and Cecelia. He’d hate to have to wait on Bonnie to grow up. But if he did, wouldn’t that be a story to tell their babies?

Children. Were the little scalawags his prime motivation in wanting a wife? As he finished up harnessing his gelding, he debated the point with himself. And, as with the thousand other times, came to no definite conclusions.

All he knew full well is that he wanted a wife. One as smart and pretty and Godly as Mary Rachel. So here he was in Texas, building her father a steam engine, hoping to leave with one of her sisters.

“Hey, Elijah.” The very youngest of the same said ladies hurried toward him.

He turned. “Hey yourself, Bonnie Claire.”

“You remembered.” She grinned with her two front teeth still bigger than her mouth.

“Yes, ma’am, of course I did. We are partners after all.”

“Yes, sir. We certainly are.” She stopped short, looked both ways and behind her, then leaned in. “CeCe and Gwen were talking about you and Mister Hightower last night.”