Hope Reborn (13 page)

How could so many people be duped into believing that there was a loving father-type up in the sky watching over them? Like God himself had given them the food they ate and the roof over their heads.

As if their hard labors had nothing to do with it.

Wouldn’t that be great, not having to think up something to write about? Just sit there and let the Lord sling the ink for a while. What an idea.

And the nonsense that a virgin gave birth to the baby Jesus? Now that was about the hardest fairytale to swallow of them all—with the possible exception of a crucified dead-for-several-days man rising from his tomb. Hallelujah, indeed.

She tried to follow the preacher’s logic, but he made too many leaps of faith. Yet no one seemed to object, like the man was stating facts, not retelling a myth.

Staring over the preacher’s head, she pictured a life with Henry. The weekly trip to town wouldn’t be that bad. She’d have him the other six days. What difference would it make if he wanted to believe that some dead Jew directed his life?

No one was perfect. Even though he was certainly the closest thing she’d found. He had got mad at her for being five minutes late. But to his credit, he apologized; she liked that.

And him being willing to visit New York, too. Wouldn’t that be fun?

While the Lord’s servant droned on—with a rather irritating nasal twang—she let visions of her and Henry strolling through Central Park glide past her inner eye, then going to the theater and a late supper.

“Everyone rise.”

In a twinkle, her sweet imaginings rudely interrupted, she came back to the now, and let Henry pull her to her feet. Hopefully, it was over, except she wouldn’t mind another hymn or two.

The deacon spread his hand out toward the congregation. “Go with God, my friends. Remember to stand firm against the wiles of the devil, and I’ll see you right here the next Lord’s Day.”

Henry released her hand and extended his elbow. She enjoyed him squiring her through the throng. Outside, Levi came up. “Rose and I would like to take everyone to dinner. Our treat.”

The jaunt down the wooden sidewalk to the Donoho dining room caused perspiration to trickle down her back. It wet her bodice, but at least the bit of breeze through the dampness cooled her a bit.

She still thought she might faint, the heat so stifling. She’d most certainly picked a horrible time of year to visit Texas. Why hadn’t she thought to come in the late fall?

With all the clan trailing along, including Mammy, Jean Paul, and all his cousins—were they believers, too, or just paying Henry back by going to his church?—the Buckmeyer parade drew quite the attraction.

Everyone smiled and waved and called out greetings. All the children were remarkably well behaved.

“Won’t this cost Levi an arm and a leg to feed all of us? Do you think he’d let me split the bill? It’s the least I could do after all your hospitality.”

“No, don’t fret. He’s got plenty of coin.”

Once inside, it seemed half the church folks or better showed. Most took their seats, but several of the men made a point of coming by and shaking Henry’s hand.

Some of them leaned down and whispered something in his ear. She couldn’t imagine what it might be. Were they talking about her? How rude to whisper like that.

The waitress took their order—a daunting task in itself—as though she had all the time in the world and every table in the room wasn’t full of patrons. My, my, what kind of tab was the Ranger running up?

After the lady had everyone’s choices down, she left, and the rest of the family all talked to each other. May leaned close. “What was all that whispering about?”

He shook his head and smiled. “Oh, they’re wanting me to stand for governor.”

She leaned back. governor. And she’d be the first lady of the great state of Texas. Gooseflesh rose on her arms and legs. Goodness gracious, now wouldn’t that be something.

“Are you going to run?”

Two days later, mid-afternoon of what had to be the hottest day yet, May studied her next page. Chapter twenty-five. Wonderful, she’d completed the rewrite.

She glanced at her right-hand helper girl. The young lady’s fingers flew over the paper, leaving a neat, uniform, flowing script. Sure would make the typesetter’s job easier.

She looked up. “Is something wrong, ma’am?”

“No, not at all.” May smiled. Henry’s baby wasn’t quite as confident as her daddy. “Quite the opposite. Everything’s excellent. I’ve just this minute finished with chapter twenty-four, and that completes the rewrite. I’m done.”

“Oh, that is outstanding.” The girl pointed the feathered end of her quill at her. “You ready to get started on the book about my parents? I can tell you what happened. Or do you want to wait and hear it from Rebecca?”

May wasn’t sure she wanted to hear about Henry and Sue. “Well, I’d certainly love to hear that story, but Major Baylor and Captain Rusk tracking down Bold Eagle is what brought me to Texas. Hopefully he’ll have time for me to interview him.”

The girl seemed a bit crestfallen, but hid it well. “Oh, he’ll make time. But it really does all start with Daddy. Uncle Levi would tell you that himself. If it hadn’t been for Mama and Daddy falling in love –”

“That reminds me of something I’ve been meaning to ask. You and the older girls call your father Daddy, and the little ones, Pa. Why is that?”

“Oh, Bonnie started calling him Pa, and from then on, it stuck. Rebecca called him Daddy even before he married our mother. She never knew her own father.”

“Poor thing.”

“He and Uncle Levi’s daddy passed in that logging accident before she was born. Uncle Levi was only five then; his mother left for heaven when he was born. He and Houston have that in common.” The girl looked off. “I was eleven when Mama went to be with Jesus.”

“That must have been devastating.”

“Yes, ma’am.” She took a minute and seemed to push her pain back into its dungeon. “Sorry. Anyway, Rebecca takes all the credit. She says if it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t even be here.”

“Wait.” May held her hands up. “Don’t tell me any more just yet. You need to work on the manuscript, so I can post it to New York. Besides, I normally take some time off between books to give these characters a chance to get out of my head.

“And if the story is as good as you say, I might have to start writing too soon.” She smiled and stood, stretched, then went to the window. “So, please, promise you’ll tell me more, just not yet.”

“I understand, but think about it. Their story really should be your first Texas novel. Then you can write about the Major trading his favorite horse for Aunt Rose.”

May turned back to the girl laughing. “No, no, you’re killing me, Mary Rachel. I do want to hear, believe me, but right now, if you’ll get back to your transcribing, I’ll go downstairs and see if I can find a bit of breeze and perhaps something cool to drink.”

“Of course.” The girl stifled a giggle as though twelve and teasing May with a juicy bit of gossip about schoolmates. She leaned back over her desk and dipped the quill.

May hurried out of the room before any more of the many stories that might become her new novels spilled out from the enthusiastic angel. She would get back to them though, as soon as Mary Rachel finished her copying. Once she turned the stairs’ second corner, a superb aroma wafted toward her.

She followed her nose to the back of the house where Mammy sat on an oversized stool at a large thick table working a huge knife over a row of yellow squash. Chester watched her fascinating chop method—almost like her hands danced over the yellow vegetables leaving a pile of identical round discs.

May stopped in the door. “Whatever you’ve got cooking smells amazing. I don’t know if I can wait.”

Both of them looked toward her. Mammy smiled. “Oh, Miss May, how about a cookie and sip of fresh milk to hold you off till supper?”

“Watch it, May. Her cookies are better than the ones at that little bakery you hate so much.”

“No, it couldn’t be possible, could it?” She slipped into the chair next to him. “Oh, alright. I suppose I should try one just to see if it could be true. And I’ll take a spot of tea rather than the milk—if it’s no trouble.”

The lady jumped up and real quick, a steaming cup arrived along with two brown ovals. She tasted the first, instantly glad Mammy hadn’t taken her request for one seriously.

“Oh, my. I give. I don’t hate that bakery anymore. There’s absolutely no comparison. What is in these cookies?”

“Aw, honey child, a pinch of this and a dash of that. Mostly I guess you could say I put love in them.” She smiled and scraped the squash off her cutting board into a pan.

May wished she had a note pad; she’d have to put that line in one of her stories. Matter of fact, the whole scene. She faced Chester. “I finished my rewrite.”

“Excellent, and how far along is your scribe?”

“Close. She might finish today, tomorrow for sure. You should plan a trip to town to get it on its way to New York. I think I’ll send Mary Rachel’s copy. Her penmanship is far better than mine.”

She leaned over and bumped shoulders with Chester. “Shouldn’t you get busy with your line edit?”

“I’ve got time, if Mary Rachel isn’t going to be finished until tonight or tomorrow morning.”

What was with him? Normally, he couldn’t wait to make sure the copy was correct so he could send it off and start negotiating the next contract.

Before she could question him further, a herd of echoing footfalls caught her attention, and she turned. The children, with Houston in the lead, hurried in her direction.

Henry brought up the rear. “Watch out, Miss May. Dirty boys coming through.” He grinned at her.

His youngest brushed past and stopped at the pump. He went to cranking, and soon, a trickle of water poured out. The other two boys washed their hands, then Charley pumped for Houston.

After them, the girls washed, but they didn’t really seem to need it, whereas she’d never beheld such grimy hands as those boys’.

“Back to the books.”

“Aww, come on. Read to us, Pa. You need to finish the story about that Roman See Zar.” Houston accented both syllables as though the title were the first and last name.

“Not today. Now light a shuck before I cut me a switch.”

Henry’s little soldiers marched off to their certain boredom. May held her smile until the last one passed by, then looked to the man, shook her head and chuckled.

“And I thought Chester was a hard task master.”

The man pulled out the chair next to May and sat. “Oh, at nap time, Miss Laura or one of the girls usually reads the babies to sleep.”

“What have you been reading to them?”

      “Well.” He didn’t want her to think he was blue at the mizzen. Why did she have to ask? “Caesar’s commentaries on the Gallic Wars.”

The lady leaned back like he’d surprised her. “Whose translation?”

“Mine, except I just do it on the fly. I’ve never written it down.”

Her eyes widened, made her even more beautiful in a funny sort of way. “You read Latin?”

“Yes, my mother pounded it in me; she thought I should be a man of letters.”

“And are you teaching them?”

“Some, I throw in a word here and there.”

“Speaking of words. Since my first day here, I’ve been wondering what was Charley speaking at dinner when Mary Rachel got on to him about his grammar? I’m fluent in several languages, but had no clue.”

“The little scalawag was rubbing it in that he speaks Comanche. He was four when Levi rescued him and his mother.”

“First your daughter, and now you. I tell you true, you Buckmeyers are likely to be the death of me.”

He loved the sound of her voice. He laughed. “Why? How? What are we doing to you?”

“I’ve only just finished my rewrite, and your favorite daughter—well, all five of them—think that next I need to write about you and their mother falling in love.

“And now, you’re teasing me with this most interesting fact that Charley spent his first four years with the Indians, then the famous Texas Ranger rescued them.

“Sounds like another great romance to me, but I usually take some time off between novels.”

“So Mary Rachel told you about her mother’s unbroken vow?”

“No, actually, she didn’t mention that, and please, I beseech you, don’t tell me more—not yet anyway.”

Chester leaned forward. “Do it, Mister Henry. Bombard her with interesting facts, and she’ll not be able to help herself. We need the income.”

For a bit, May stared at her man—or was it a glare?—then something passed between them that Henry couldn’t put his finger on, as though they shared a dark secret.

She faced him. “I would love some fresh air, and was wondering if you’d be so kind as to show me around? I’d hate to get lost and have one of those wild hogs—or something worse—get me.”

Henry stood and extended his hand. “Of course, I’d love to.”

May placed hers in his and and let him help her up from the table. For the first time in her adult life, she had a sense of being a child, and this man, her father. Could that be what she saw in Henry?

Would he have been able to best the commodore?  It seemed ridiculous to even consider it, no longer than she’d known the man, but could he really be the one she’d been searching for all these years?

Once outside, New Blue appeared at his side as though the mutt had been waiting for him.

“That dog. He’s always around. Would he bite if I came out alone?”

The man glanced at the animal. “His real name is New Blue, but the children call him Newly. And no, he’d never harm you in any way.”

She wanted to ask how he got his name, but she’d learned better. New Blue, indeed. That had to be a story in itself, and if he told her much about Old Blue, no doubt she wouldn’t be able to keep the lid on that nasty bottle of ink.

For a few minutes, she let him lead her around the house and barn, then got a short lesson on his windmill and water tank. After a few hundred paces down a wide lane with a pasture full of horses on one side and thick forest on the other, he stopped under a grand stand of huge pines.

She so appreciated the shade. The tall, straight trees surrounded a nice-sized pond like sentries guarding the pristine pool that looked as though a fairyland had been cut out of the woods.