Hope Reborn (22 page)

Letters hadn’t started yet, hadn’t known then the man even hunted him.

Shreveport seemed nice enough, found a right tasty beef stew and passable cornbread for dinner, but it wasn’t Texas. From then on until he got back across the state line, Levi would have no jurisdiction.

Being a personal friend of Sam Houston held no sway either.

Too soon the stage—that coach a bit fancier without near the sway as the last—headed out, rolling, ever rolling toward the one city he’d rather not ever have to cast a shadow in again.

He made himself not think on New Orleans or that terrible battle or the man who wanted to beat him to a bloody pulp or worse.

Instead, he set his thoughts on what was lovely and pure and worthy of a good report—his May. Still a virgin. He remembered the feel of her hand in his or ever so lightly on his shoulder as he waltzed her around the porch.

For a few heartbeats, instead of leaving her at the stairs, he danced her all the way to his room, but shook off that image.

She remained forbidden fruit and would be until she accepted God’s love, repented of her wicked ways—though he couldn’t imagine what those might be—and asked the Lord to save her.

He had to stay strong, for her sake and his babies’. No matter his own happiness, he must be a good example for them.

Oh, Lord, give me the desires of my heart. Or either change them according to Your will. Show me the error of my ways.

About a mile after the last team change before Natchitoches, lightning and rolling thunder brought sheets of cold rain. Henry pulled his window shut, then grinned.

Wondering if the same storm had hit Clarksville, he couldn’t help it. His babies sure took advantage of a little weather to sit his lap or snuggle under his covers. No doubt they cuddled with May if it had.

Not rotten by anyone’s measure, his children enjoyed their spoiling for sure, but he’d not have it any other way. Could be that was one reason why he found May so attractive.

Someone had spoiled the lady in all the right ways. She’d be good for his babies, especially the girls.

Shortly, all thoughts of his new love vanished as the coach slowed down in the fresh mud. Three times they crawled, and the second day on the road melted into the night.

With the rain still falling, the driver requested help getting unstuck, but finally his bugle sounded in the oldest city in Louisiana.

Instead of a short layover and moonlight dash to Alexandria, the storm forced Henry and his boys to find lodging. The trip put on hold until the roads dried. A bit past midnight, the storm’s fury passed.

It left a steady soft drizzle, the kind he loved to watch from his porch rocker. The sun didn’t break through until mid morning, but by then, Levi and Jean Paul had booked passage on the Creole, a steamboat that sailed the bayous of Louisiana regular.

“Even loaded, the captain says the side-wheeler should make New Orleans tomorrow evening.”

Henry nodded at the man he counted more a son than nephew. Hopefully, his own boy would turn out to be half the man Levi Baylor made.

“Good, thanks.”

Once aboard, neither Henry nor the boys took a seat at any of the more than a dozen gambling tables. He knew better, and even though he caught a longing look in Levi’s eye, the ranger resisted any urge to try his hand.

Hard to beat the river sharks, no matter the tale told of Jim Bowie winning, then giving away a fortune. Of all the men lost at the Alamo, Henry would have most liked knowing the Kentuckian, if for no other reason than hearing from the man himself, if all the yarns spun about him held any truth.

He’d repeated a few, but mostly just stored them away, waiting for more proof than some dandy writing it down in a newspaper.

Reporters, nothing but a bunch of snoops, the very ones responsible for all this situation with Bull. Well, and him talking to the idiots. Pride, that’s what it all boiled down to.

Surely without all the stories written about him and Levi over the years, Bull would have long since forgotten about him. That first letter came when? He pondered.

Not too long after he got back from San Jacinto. Seemed Sue was more proud of seeing his name in the paper than Texas winning her independence from Mexico.

Through that first day on the Creole, he mulled over his past, relived the fights he’d had with Bull. Would he have to kill the man this time?

That night after his prayers, he resolved to do everything possible to avoid taking the man’s life, but he’d not sacrifice himself to keep it from happening. A peace settled over him and turned his thoughts to May.

Oh, Lord, soften her heart.

Then, like it was all settled, he dreamed of a life with the novelist.

After the rain cleared the air and brought a welcomed cool breeze that at best turned the heat from horrible to tolerable, May went to furiously writing.

In a frenzy of black on white, she finished two more chapters. When she counted the pages, she could hardly believe it. Was that a record, eighteen pages in two days?

She’d have to ask Chester, he’d know. Where was he anyway? Seemed she hadn’t seen her brother much of late. Well, she only needed to locate Mammy’s whereabouts, and there he’d be.

Had he found true love, too? For a fact, the man already told her he wasn’t leaving Texas unless the former slave went with him.

She loved it. If she stayed, and he’d gone back to New York, losing him would break her heart. She giggled. Would he really stay if she didn’t? Could that happen?

Would there be a reason she’d ever head back to New York without Henry? She loved the man, and he loved her. She was absolutely certain of that.

Only thing necessary was coming to a logical understanding, get him to agree to some sort of treaty over his religion. Then nothing would stand in the way of marital bliss.

The most level-headed man she’d ever encountered would surely compromise with her. What his sweet Bonnie reported couldn’t be true. Could it?

The grandfather clock struck its rather loud chime; she counted with it, then on the fifth and last gong, it hit her. He should be in New Orleans by now. The city brought that horrid Captain Orr to mind.

A shudder ran up her spine. What if she had settled?

Had Henry already made it? Had he found Mammy’s brother?

She hoped on hope that Bull guy played nice with her sweetheart. Sure found it hard not knowing, more specifically, maddening. She should have insisted he let her go.

The tone of his ‘No’ and the way he lifted his chin as though that settled everything washed over her.  Plopping her elbow on the desk, she propped her chin on her fist.

He shouldn’t boss her around. He didn’t have the right. She was her own woman, a successful author who’d made her way alone just fine. Exactly. Except, she didn’t want to be alone anymore.

More than life, she wanted to be Mis’ess Patrick Henry Buckmeyer. So, was that why she stayed, accepted his decision? Obeyed him?

Obey? Why would she do such a thing?

No man had ordered her around since she was twelve years old, and the commodore breathed his last. Had she done it to prove to Henry that she could be the proper southern wife?

Or to herself maybe?

Had Sue obeyed him?

A part of her screamed inside, don’t do it!

But she refused that part.

The bigger part spoke softly of the way his hand felt on her cheek, the twinkle in his eye when he saw her for the first time of a day. That part reminded her of the afternoon by the pond.

Her chin went from on top f her fist to between both hands. Wise and wonderful, Henry was everything she’d ever hoped to find. She wanted the man. Wanted him to totally dominate every part of her, bask in his goodness, his power, and his love.

The remembrance of him coming off The Black and saving Houston from that hog flashed across her mind’s eye. Had she ever known a man like Henry?

And charging into the muzzle of that long gun at church. He was right. Running the other way like she’d wanted wouldn’t have been the way to handle the situation.

He could never deny who he was, and beyond all doubt, he was not a coward, but brave and strong. She loved him. She would obey, not because he forced her to, because she wanted to please him in every way.

She would follow him until the day she died.

Knuckles on wood brought her to the now. She wiped her eyes and straightened the growing stack of papers. “Yes?”

The door opened, and Chester walked in. “We’re going to the brush arbor after supper. Want to come?”

The no died halfway across her tongue. “Why? Sunday’s still two days away.”

“Mammy figures the men’ll be getting to New Orleans about that time. We want to pray for Mister Henry, him staying safe and coming home with her brother.”

“What about the children? I can stay and watch them.”

“They’re all coming; Wallace and Rebecca, too. Why don’t you come? I’ll be more comfortable than with you staying here alone.”

That word again. Alone. She didn’t want to be alone anymore, but without Henry she was alone even in a room full of people. She stared at her brother; he stared right back.

Finally she shook her head. “I’ll be fine here. I really don’t want to go. Henry will keep himself safe. He doesn’t need any help from an imaginary being.”

She ignored his smirk and when she held her peace, he left, probably to go help Mammy. May hadn’t forgot her plan to surprise the cook. She’d been thinking on it.

Her brother’s new love served supper promptly at six, but instead of the normal flow of words punctuated with silverware on porcelain, seemed all thoughts were centered on the next state over.

What bit of conversation that took place beyond ‘pass this or hand me that please’, was mostly about Henry, Levi or Jean Paul.

Wallace mentioned the storm, and the consensus that it had probably delayed the stagecoach seemed to brighten the overall mood a shade or two. They shouldn’t be worried.

Henry could take care of himself just fine.

She watched from the porch as the whole clan, white and black, loaded together in two wagons. Wallace Rusk, driving the second team, nodded toward the house. “Left my pistol on the Colonel’s desk if any need arises. You know how to shoot, Miss May?”

If he only knew. “Yes, thank you. I’ve handled a gun before.”

New Blue materialized from under the porch, fell in behind the last wagon, then stopped and turned around. He looked right at her then back to the parade as it rolled away.

For a bit, he sat on his haunches looking from her to them, then finally sauntered back, climbed the steps, and laid down right at her feet. Silly dog rolled his big brown eyes toward her.

“You can go with them if you want. I’ll be fine.”

He lowered his head to his paws and closed his eyes as though the matter had been settled.

With Henry’s mutt at her feet, she rocked the sun below the tree line, then figured maybe she would dirty some more paper, see if she could pen anything worth reading.

At the front door, she half expected New Blue to come in with her, but he never moved, kept at his self-imposed guard post. How had Henry trained him like that?

And the way everyone talked, his sire by far had been the best dog ever. Was Mister Buckmeyer some kind of master manipulator? Dogs, children, strange woman?

Was that what he was doing to her? Killing her with his kindness? Bending her will to his, then…what?

Her imagination made her a living alright, but why, oh why, did she let it run wild like that? Henry was not a deceitful man; he was what he was, so much like.…

She stopped in the doorway to his library. No.

Henry wasn’t anything like the commodore. Well, tall like him…and strong. Oh, how many times had her mother’s husband tossed her so high she giggled at the sensation of flying?

Then he’d catch her like she didn’t weigh any more than a feather. Smart, both men were smart, but the commodore was.…

Devious came to mind, but maybe cunning described him better.

Now she’d heard several reports of Henry being the best horse trader around, and how he bought Jean Paul and Mammy then all their kin and emancipated the whole lot.

The commodore, on the other hand, bragged on being a master – a slaver through and through just like his daddy the Captain before him and his father the Admiral before him.

Her family built Sea Side on black backs; he’d said it more than once, and as a boast of sorts. She stepped on into the library then froze.