Jodi Thomas - WM 1 (16 page)

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Authors: Texas Rain

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The next morning she walked up Congress Avenue collecting her pie plates. Four of the cafés ordered more pies. Since Owen was home to run the store, Pearl helped Rainey set up books and figure out, once she’d paid all expenses, how much money each pie would make. It wasn’t much, but Pearl had been right, if Rainey could bake three days a week, she’d be able to pay for her room at Askew House.
On her next baking day the cafés doubled their orders when she delivered, and Rainey began a pattern of baking three days a week.
Owen wandered through the kitchen from time to time. At first he seemed like a stranger among them, but Rainey didn’t miss the way he looked at his wife. Pearl was plain, seeming older than her years, but when Owen talked to her, or touched her shoulder, she beamed.
Rainey had never seen a married couple act so and found it fascinating. The few married couples she’d been around hardly talked to each other. Ninety percent of everything her father had said to her mother came in the form of an order. The other ten percent had been complaints. Rainey’s father seemed to think that everything wrong had somehow been his wife’s fault. He blamed her for their lack of money, their living conditions, and most of all their daughter.
But Owen and Pearl were a world within themselves. They seemed happy to have their little home and both cherished their son. Owen claimed Jason had his mother’s beautiful eyes, and Pearl bragged that the boy would be as smart as his father. The couple didn’t mean to, but they made Rainey even more aware of how alone she truly was, not only in Texas, but in the world. She’d known from the night she’d left home that there would be no turning back. The ring she carried tucked away in a tiny bag around her neck would be her only inheritance. Her father’s second wife would give him the sons he’d always complained of not having, and from the looks of their house the new wife would also spend the money her father had so carefully hidden all Rainey’s life.
Unless he found her, she knew she would have to make her way without family. A good start might be to correct the wrong she’d done to the McMurrays.
That night, alone in her room, she wrote her first letter to Travis.
CHAPTER 12
 
WHEN TRAVIS RETURNED FROM THE SUMMIT OF WHISPERING Mountain, everyone, including Martha, commented on how quiet he seemed. The angry sulking side of him had disappeared, but judging from his family’s looks, the replacement was just as hard to watch.
He used his crutches and came to meals without being bullied, but the rest of the time he preferred being alone. If the family gathered around him, Travis found an excuse to move elsewhere. He asked few questions about the ranch and offered little in conversation to anyone, yet when they finally quit trying to make small talk, he felt no sense of relief. Out of boredom he began to read, glancing over every book in the library, but finding those on law the most interesting because he could relate to them. He settled into them as if they were old friends who came to visit. A part of the life he’d known for ten years linked him to every word. Before long law books were scattered all over the study and the porch.
Over the years an old judge in Austin had often handed him a book on law to carry in his saddlebags. Once after Travis had to put his horse down, he’d walked for miles carrying his saddle. He’d cussed the heavy book tucked into the bags, but he hadn’t left it behind. There was something fascinating about how justice worked. Old Judge Gates was right about one thing: In order for it to work, it had to work the same for everyone.
While he read, he thought of his dream. The only place he’d ever stood with his hand on the Bible had been in a courtroom. Did the dream mean that someday he’d drop the justice system and take the law into his own hands?
One rainy Sunday afternoon when he left the study for the solitude of the porch, he heard Sage complain. Teagen hushed her by saying that Travis had a right to his privacy.
As the days turned to winter, he pulled further and further into himself. Often as not, when he sat on the porch staring out across the land, he saw nothing, not even the weather he’d always loved watching. He spent many hours with his nose buried in a book and never read a word. With the loss of his job, he felt no sense of purpose. His wounds healed, but the pain remained, reminding him that he’d never be as strong. Much as he hated it, he needed the cane.
He was surprised one morning when Teagen barged into the study. His older brother still wore his coat, so he hadn’t stopped by for an early lunch. Winter air followed him inside. Though Travis was out of bed and wearing trousers, he hadn’t bothered to shave in days.
He looked up from the fire he’d been watching. “Morning, brother.” He didn’t bother to ask what Teagen wanted; he figured he’d find out soon enough.
Teagen grinned as he pulled off his gloves and moved closer to the fire. “I picked up supplies from Elmo’s post this morning. He said one of the soldiers passing through on his way delivering supplies north dropped off a bag of mail. I waited around hoping the books we ordered last month arrived. No luck.” He pulled out an envelope from the inside pocket of his coat. “But . . . this came for you.”
Travis frowned. He didn’t reach for the envelope. He’d heard from the Ranger station a few times when he had first been hurt, but they’d long ago gone on to other problems. “Who’d write me?” he said more to himself than anyone.
Teagen, as always, lost what little patience the Lord gave him. “How do I know? Why don’t you open the envelope and find out?” He dropped the letter into Travis’s lap and walked out.
Travis stared at it for a while, thinking of all the people he knew across the state. He’d seen little evidence that most of them even knew how to write, and the few who could weren’t close enough friends to bother. He’d put enough outlaws in jail that one might write just to remind Travis that he still hated him. But outlaws usually yelled their death threats. Writing them seemed too civilized.
The ranch ordered supplies by mail sometimes. They received catalogs from as far away as New York. But letters were very rare.
Travis tapped the letter against the arm of his chair and wondered if Teagen was just outside the door waiting for him to open the letter. His older brother always liked a mystery.
He lifted the weathered and bent dispatch that had probably been stuffed from one mailbag to another. The front had his name in bold letters, then Whispering Mountain Ranch near Anderson Trading Post, northeast of Austin. Whoever wrote knew where they could find him.
Travis guessed few would know Whispering Mountain’s location, but most men who hauled supplies north knew of Elmo’s place. Trading posts and missions were landmarks along dusty roads holding settlements together.
On the back of the paper he saw the return address as Sam Irish, General Delivery, Eaton Erhard’s Store, San Marcos Settlement.
Travis leaned back in his chair to think. He knew no Sam Irish. He hadn’t been to Erhard’s place at the headwaters of the San Marcos River in over a year. This had to be a mistake. Teagen occasionally got mail from Austin because the land was in his name. Tobin got inquiries about the horses he sold. No one wrote to Travis.
He opened the letter, prepared to be disappointed.
 
Dear Mr. McMurray,
You may not remember me, but I would like to inquire as to your health and tell you that I will pay for the horse I borrowed from your family as soon as I am able. I feel certain you would have loaned it to me if you had not been far too ill for me to explain why I needed it. True, you might have argued, but I must assume I would have persuaded you if I’d had the time and your attention.
 
Travis laughed, truly laughed for the first time since he’d been shot.
The fairy was back in his life.
She wrote on, telling him that though he knew Sam wasn’t her name, she’d like to correspond as such and to please give his family her warm regards. She told of how worried she was about him and how she’d thought of him often. She also said that she sold the horse out of kindness because if she hadn’t, it would have starved. She promised a dollar a week by post until her debt was paid.
The note was signed:
Warmest regards, R
.
He ran his thumb over the initial, guessing she’d just given the first hint as to her real name. The paper was rough, probably the cheapest sold, but the penmanship was flawless. Whoever this fairy woman was, one fact was certain: She’d been educated.
Travis read the letter a dozen times, then folded it into his shirt pocket, got dressed, left his crutches behind, and, using only his cane, went for a walk. When he returned, he asked Martha to pull the entire set of law books from the top shelf, and he began to search for rulings on theft. If Sam Irish made a habit of borrowing other people’s belongings, his fairy might need a friend who knew the law.
Three hours later, when Martha brought him a tray for lunch, he was hard at work at the desk. That evening, at dinner, Travis came to the table shaved and smiling. Everyone waited for an explanation, but he only said that he’d found the law books very interesting and entertained them all with things he’d learned.
When Martha served dessert, he took his to the study, claiming he had more reading to do. Sage and his brothers stared at him, but no one said a word.
By midnight Travis had answered her letter and knew the hardest part would be waiting until someone in the family mentioned going to town so he could ask them to post it for him.
San Marcos was only thirty or so miles from Austin. If Elmo sent the mail with someone traveling south, his letter could reach the capital in three or four days. Then allowing two days for it to get on a stage heading south toward San Antonio, the driver might drop the mail at the halfway point—San Marcos—within another day.
Travis tapped his letter against his hand. In a week his fairy woman could be holding his answer in her hands. Smiling, he reasoned that on a fast horse he could be there in half the time and be holding her. The need to do just that surprised him. He’d only been with her for minutes, yet the memory of her in his arms lingered like smoke through his thoughts.
At dawn the next morning he found himself wide awake. Grabbing his cane, he went for a walk. His thoughts were full of the fairy/woman. Over the weeks he’d sometimes feared he’d dreamed her up, but now he had the letter. He had proof. Now he could think about when he would find her.
Two days later Sage mentioned she needed sewing supplies and, since it was a clear day, thought she’d ride over to Elmo’s place.
Travis didn’t say a word at the breakfast table, but a half hour later, when Sage walked onto the porch, he handed her the letter.
As he watched his sister ride off, he thought it was a long shot that R. would even get his letter. The mail service was poor on good days and nonexistent in bad weather. The letter would probably sit at Elmo’s place a week before someone picked it up. Then it would be days before it got from Austin to San Marcos. From there, it would wait in a general delivery slot with hundreds of letters never claimed. Even if she came in to check, there was a good chance she wouldn’t find his letter to her.
By midafternoon he wished he’d never written. What if he frightened her by quoting the law? What if she thought he was angry or worse trying to lure her into a trap? And last . . . worst . . . what if she thought him a fool?
If he’d been able to ride, he would have gone after the letter. He’d have stormed into Elmo’s store and demanded the thing back. But he couldn’t ride. The letter would go out, and maybe, just maybe, if he were lucky, it would not reach her.
After several hours of sitting on the porch thinking about nothing important, he stormed back inside. Only he missed the rise in the doorframe and stumbled into the hallway, tripped over a rug, and fell headfirst. He spent the rest of that day and the next in bed, silently cussing himself and fanning away Sage and Martha every time they wanted to poke at the egg-sized knot on his forehead.
Martha said he probably had brain damage, but Travis knew it was too late.
He’d already mailed the letter.
CHAPTER 13
 
RAINEY WAS ELBOW DEEP IN BLUEBERRY PIES AND laughing with Pearl when Owen returned from his deliveries to the south. He grinned and held a letter up so that she could see it, then slipped it into the pocket of her coat hanging by the door. “You got mail, Miss Rainey, all the way from a place called Whispering Mountain.”
“Thanks, Owen.” She fought the urge to wash up and run to the letter. But in the three weeks since she’d started making pies, the orders had doubled every week. “I’ve got a sample of that blackberry pie cooling, if you want to taste it and see if you think it will sell.”
“Oh, it will sell, just like they all do.” Owen smiled. “You’ll fatten me up, but . . . I know you need someone to judge the product, so I’m afraid I have to sacrifice myself.”
Rainey giggled. She’d learned to love Owen’s sense of humor. He might not be the most handsome man in the world, but he was a hard worker and a good husband and father. She’d seen him work all day loading and unloading wagons, then come in and lift Jason off Pearl’s lap so she could rest a while.

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