Hope Reborn (9 page)

May held out her arms. “Oh, sweetheart.”

She scooted out of her chair and fell on May’s neck. For the longest the distraught girl let herself be hugged then pushed back. “Forgive me, ma’am. Having you here. Well, no one has sat in mother’s chair until today.”

“Oh, no. I shouldn’t have been the one. Why in the world did –”

“No, Daddy told us he wanted you to have it. He bought it special for her because she sat in it and said she’d never been in a more comfortable chair. He didn’t get it right then, he waited and surprised her with it on the anniversary of when she came and asked him to help her get her cotton to market.”

The girl wiped her cheeks and stood. She walked to the window and looked out. “That’s when they fell in love, on that trip down the Jefferson Trace. I think it’s wonderful you sitting in her place.”

Mary Rachel turned back and faced her. “You have no idea the difference in him since you came. No one’s sat in her chair at the table, either.”

What a romantic the man was. Could Henry be interested in her after all? She turned back. “He’s never let anyone sit in her place at the table either, has he?”

“No, ma’am. Rebecca’s always on his left when she’s here, with the Major next to her, then me. Mammy’s where Chester was.” Mary Rachel smiled. “He’s funny about some things, like sitting according to age.”

Well now, this changed everything.

Or did it?

The young lady returned to the table, and picked up her quill, but then twisted back toward May. “Would a personal question be out of order, ma’am?”

She smiled. “Depends on how personal.”

“Is it too personal to ask if you’ve ever been married?”

“No, and no.”

“Engaged?”

May grinned. Was the child or father asking? “Afraid not. I’ve never even been asked.”

“Really? That is so hard to believe.”

“No, you just don’t know me very well yet. I’m fully aware of how difficult I can be; if not for my Chester, I’m certain I’d have no one at all.”

The girl’s brows arched higher, and she gave a little understanding nod. “My mama? God rest her soul. Now she was plenty hard to get along with at times. Don’t get me wrong. She was absolutely wonderful.”

“I’m sure.”

“She loved with a passion, and treasured her relationship with the Lord. Enjoyed having fun with us so much, but Mama had a temper on her and had to have everything so perfect. No one could ever do anything good enough in her estimation, except for Daddy.” She grinned. “Sometimes not him either.” She shook her head. “You just haven’t met the right man, that’s all.”

May resisted the urge to say more. Instead, she shrugged. “That’s possible, I suppose, but I’m pretty used to doing exactly what I want whenever I want to do it. Might be too set in my ways to have a man in my life. Besides, who’d want an old maid ink slinger?”

“Oh, Miss May, you’re a beautiful woman.”

She smiled. “Well, thank you, sweet girl. Guess we best both get back to work. Chester’s liable to show any minute wanting to see some progress.”

The girl nodded then beamed. “And by the way, I’m loving this book. I read the whole page before I go back and copy it and can hardly wait to get to the next, but I’m taking my time.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m being very careful of my penmanship. I can’t imagine how much fun it will be to hold the real book in my hands! It’s going to be my favorite of all the ones you’ve written so far.”

The girl’s enthusiasm was infectious, made May want to get this one done, so she could rest some before starting on the next.

And she had to agree, finally having her stories actually printed and bound thrilled her every time, but she resisted the urge to open that new jar of time-wasting.

“A toast?” She lifted her quill in the air toward the girl who lifted hers as well. “To romance, the language of love, and finishing this one, so we can have some fun while I’m here!”

Mary Rachel laughed pointing the quill toward May. “Here, here.”

Henry rocked out, held his chair forward in place, then studied the pile for a bit. Satisfied, he settled back again. Charley wasn’t being too rough with the younger ones.

He loved how the ten-year-old took care of his boys as he called them. Henry couldn’t love Rose and Levi’s son any more than if he’d fathered him. But then they were all his, even Laura’s Little Lacy called him Pa.

Footfalls turned his head, but it was only Mammy bringing him a cup of tea. The old girl seemed to have an extra spring in her step of late.

“Here you go, Mister Henry, nice and hot, with a little dab of honey and cream.”

He took the cup. “You spoil me something terrible.”

“Yes, sir, that’s my pleasure to do.” She waltzed back inside. The Lord had blessed him so much when he sent Jean Paul and his family. Hopefully, traders could locate Mammy’s brother; he’d love having the whole clan in Red River County.

Help us, Lord; let me do this little kindness for her.

He loved blessing people, making them smile. That’s the only thing money was good for. He’d overpaid for the last two of her cousins he’d brought home.

Grinned to himself; good thing their owners didn’t know he’d would’ve paid double the price. But what good was all the gold he and Levi had buried over the years if he couldn’t spend some of it? Buy what he wanted?

Right now, what he wanted was upstairs; but she wasn’t to be bought. He resisted the urge to look in on the novelist. He wanted to spend alone time with her, get to know her, and see if his first impressions proved true.

Oh, Lord, could it be that you brought her?

He hated sitting there with her being just up the stairs, but it probably didn’t matter. For sure, she must have some fancy man waiting for her in New York.

He knew this. If she belonged to him, he would never stand for her traveling halfway across the country by herself. Forget Chester. Henry would go, or she wouldn’t.

Henry eased the book closed. Houston had finally given it up and dozed off. He’d lasted a good three pages longer than Bart and Lacey. Henry smiled, extracting himself from the huddle of little boys who had fallen asleep draped over him.

While the big girls got out their own books, Charley followed him to the kitchen.

“How come we got to rope those hogs, Uncle Henry?”

Dipping a scoop of water, he took a sip then held it for the boy. “Remember last year when we killed all the shoats and jakes and put ‘em in the smoke house?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you recall when we did that?”

“Not exactly, but I remember the morning being real cold.”

“That’s right. You always wait to butcher a hog until the first freeze. Gives you plenty of time to get ‘em in the smokehouse. For sure wouldn’t do to waste any good meat.”

“Yes, sir. Is that why Jean Paul and the cousins been building that new hog waller?”

He nodded at the boy. “You don’t miss much, son.”

“Yes, sir. Well, suppose I can go help ‘em? For sure don’t want anything holding us up in the morning.”

“How many books did the Major want you to read before he got back?”

The boy grimaced. “Four.”

Henry nodded toward the library. “Best get to it; I’ll go check on Jean Paul and the cousins.” Once the boy did as told, Henry headed toward the barn. Might as well saddle up and take a ride.

No good excuse had presented itself all afternoon to go where he really wanted.

A light knock pulled May away from her rewrite. Could it be Henry? She pinched her cheeks. “Come in.”

The bedroom door eased open. Mammy backed in holding a silver tray laden with a lovely porcelain teapot, cups, and what May figured must be a little cream pitcher. An elegant set; Sue must have had great taste.

May never dreamed folks in Texas had such treasures, much less used them.

“Afternoon. Thought you ladies might enjoy a tea break.”

“Yes, ma’am. That sounds wonderful, but only if you’ll join us.”

“Oh, Miss May, I’d have to get my cup and –”

“No, you don’t.” Mary Rachel held hers out. “We can share.”

Mammy looked around; the girl jumped up and offered the woman her chair. “Sit here; I need to visit the water closet anyway.” She quickly stacked her pages and cleared a place for the tray then headed out.

May smiled. If Henry proved to be half the person his daughter was… She let the thought drift away. The man obviously just wasn’t interested. Why would he be?

He told her straight up he had everything he needed or wanted right there.

A question May had wanted to ask came to mind and took the place of her thinking about Henry. “Mammy, what’s your real name?”

“Oh, good Lord above, child, now let me see.” She looked off squinting at nothing as though trying to see back in time. “My first mis’ess called me Peaches or Peachy, then after her, an old lady bought me. She only called me Girl, ‘cept for a few other not-so-nice names.”

“Shame on her.”

“Yes, ma’am, but she didn’t know no better I figure. I’s still with her when my Jean Paul’s daddy—the first Jean Paul—saw me. Working down on the wharf that day on account of the old lady rented me out.”

She took a sip of tea then smiled so big, it seemed her cheeks would split in two. “The first Jean Paul, he got the Mister to buy me. My man called me Honey Child and Darlin’ and whatever sweet name popped into his ol’ silver head.”

“So he was older?”

“Yes, ma’am, by a good bit, but I didn’t pay no never mind. Best man I ever knew, then my baby boy came along. We had an old Mammy who took sick and passed on.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“She was a Christian so went straight to glory, and somebody needed to cook. Turned out to be me, and everyone started calling me Mammy. Guess it stuck. It’s a good name for an old lady like me.”

The door flew open. “Mammy, where’s Daddy? Did he read today?”

“Yes, Miss Mary, but he’s going now to check on Jean Paul and his cousins. Might catch him out by the barn.”

Mary Rachel hurried to the lace-covered door on the south side of the room, flung it open, and stepped outside. May hadn’t even noticed the door before. She followed the girl onto a big railed balcony. Good gracious, you could see forever.

A quarter mile down the road, Henry sat ram-rod straight atop a high-stepping black steed. At an easy lope, one might think he and the horse were one. He looked like a king leading his army off to war.

She couldn’t tear her eyes away. The man literally took her breath away.

His daughter put two fingers to her mouth and let out an ear-splitting whistle. The man spun his mount around and spurred the horse into a full gallop. He slapped the reins on both sides of the animal’s shoulders then leaned over its neck.

May couldn’t believe it; she’d never seen anyone ride like Henry Buckmeyer. 

When he neared, the girl cupped her hands around her mouth and hollered without an obvious thought of being a lady. “The water closet’s broke.”

May grimaced at the unladylike exhibition. Poor child. She needed a little refinement, someone to help knock off the rough edges. Her father, though a great one no doubt, probably had no idea how to teach a young woman to be gentile.

How could he, having never been one? He reined the beautiful horse to a stop just short of the row of rose bushes that guarded the south side of the house.

“Mary Rachel, don’t ever do that again.” He spoke in a stern tone that surprised her. Had he used it on May, she’d have crumbled.

His daughter, on the other hand, acted as though it had little effect on her. “But Daddy, the water closet is broke, and you were riding off.”

“And that’s worth getting me and The Black killed?”

“Oh, Daddy, it isn’t going to kill that horse to run a little bit. And no one in the whole state rides better than you.” The girl shook her head. “Can you fix it, please?”

“I’ll be right up.”

May stepped back into the room. The serving tray was gone, but two steaming cups of tea remained. She pushed her curls back and stopped her hand halfway to her cheeks.

He wasn’t coming to see her.

Besides, his plans had been interrupted, and now he would be mad. Probably not even notice her presence. He’d rush in, fix the thing, then be gone. Get back to checking on his hired help.

A light rap sounded on the door then it eased open. “Ladies?”

Mary Rachel jumped up. “Come on in, Daddy.” She went and threw her arms around the man’s chest. “And I am sorry, truly. I shouldn’t have used our emergency whistle like I did.”

The man chuckled. “Your mother would get so mad at me for teaching you how to do that.” He hugged her back and glanced at May. “Told us both more than once a lady shouldn’t whistle like a man.” He squeezed a little tighter then patted her back.

May’s heartbeat fluttered then quickened. She barely smiled, anxious to look away. Her cheeks burned at their open display of affection. She wished she was in his embrace, that his strong arms wrapped her in that manner.

Oh gracious! She absolutely had to stop thinking about him hugging her.

Certainly, he would never have interest in a spinster novelist. She put on her best parlor room smile then turned toward him just as he opened his arms and Mary Rachel stepped back. His eyes met hers.

Her breath caught in her throat. Oh, had he heard her gasp? Had it been audible?

Then he smiled, and the room brightened. It seemed a cloud floated off from shadowing the sun.

Though Henry moved toward the door, his eyes remained locked onto hers, seized her momentarily, his prisoner. She’d volunteer for a life sentence in his calaboose. 

Then he looked toward the water closet. “Uh, what’s it doing?”

It only took him one trip for tools and parts to make the commode operative again. He explained it to Mary Rachel, but May couldn’t concentrate on the words for the sound of his voice.

She loved the depth of his soothing baritone. Did he sing? Could she stand it if he did? And whether he could or not, she imagined surely he could dance.

Everyone could; what pure bliss to get the man on a ballroom floor and have a respectable reason for his hands to touch her. The right side of her mid-back tingled at the thought of his personal contact.

The door closed, and he was gone. She wished he hadn’t left so quickly. She loved the way he’d looked at her. Or was her imagination running away with her? Had she read more into his gaze than she should?

Why, he’d practically stared at her, hadn’t he? Seemed like two full minutes or more. Oh, gracious! Making a mountain out of an ant hill like a school girl. And her forty-one years old!

Nearing half a century.

The man was only being polite. Without any doubts, he could have any number of women, young or old. Why had she thought he’d want her? Not a reason in the world.

He didn’t know her, and once he did, it would be for certain he wouldn’t be interested. Who but blood kin would want to be around such a stubborn, obstinate woman so set in her ways?

Besides, Henry was still in love with his dead wife.

Mary Rachel slipped back into her seat and found her place, took a sip of tea with obvious care, then returned to her work. May picked up her own cup; she needed to put the girl’s father out of her idiotic thoughts and concentrate on the manuscript.

She had a deadline. It relieved her that the girl didn’t want to talk about her father, how wonderful he was. Did Mary Rachel know the effect Henry had on women?

She’d caught him staring at her. Henry should have said something, but Mary Rachel was there. For sure he’d made a fool out of himself. He hoped his daughter hadn’t noticed.

That’s exactly what he’d done. May was barely older than Rebecca. Henry put his tools back in the barn, retrieved The Black from the front hitching post, then headed out again.

He’d told Charley he’d check on the hog pen. Wouldn’t do for anything to put off the hunt. The older boy would understand, but to Houston and Bart, tomorrow was already half a lifetime away; another day would be an unbearable wait.

No, he best see to it that come morning, nothing hindered him from taking those boys on the anticipated grand adventure.