Texas Angel, 2-in-1 (49 page)

“You on your way to Gonzales to join Austin?”

“Thought I might see if they could use my help.”

He smiled, revealing yellow, rotting teeth. Benjamin wondered how his children could have become so fond of this man. But they had no doubt seen what Benjamin had been too stupid to see back then. There was a gentle spirit behind the grime.

“How about you, Reverend? You going to fight?”

“No, actually I’ve just been to Gonzales. I’m on my way back home.” He didn’t know why he added what he did, perhaps it was because he knew the man had been fond of Micah. “I was trying to make my son give up his notion of fighting. He ran off and joined Austin.”

“Your boy?” Fife’s bushy eyebrows arched. “Why, he’s just a kid.”

“Fourteen. But he’s shot up several inches since you last saw him. He’s nearly as tall as me.”

“Ya don’t say!” Fife helped himself to more coffee. “Well, I reckon when they get that old, there ain’t much you can do with ’em.”

Benjamin remembered how he and Fife had locked horns so many times on the trail. Benjamin had preached at the man, berated him, condemned him to hell, and had firmly forbidden his children to speak to him. The memory seemed to open up a floodgate of more unwanted memories—of a man who was all but a stranger now. Hard, arrogant, unyielding, unforgiving.

A man he never wanted to become again. Yet since Elise had made her confession to him, he could feel the hard shell that had once imprisoned him begin to clamp back into place. He could feel that arrogant pride take him captive once again. He inhaled a strangled breath.

“You all right, Reverend?” Fife’s voice penetrated Benjamin’s muddled senses.

Benjamin lifted his eyes to the man before him, a man he had wronged as he had wronged so many others in his life.

“Mr. Fife, you’ve reminded me of a debt that is long past due—”

“You mean the money?” Fife cut in. “I told you—”

“Not the money.” Pausing, Benjamin started to lift his cup to his dry lips but, finding it empty, forced himself to continue without the benefit of a distraction. “I treated you abominably when we were traveling. You saved my life and the life of my family—” When Fife opened his mouth to protest, Benjamin raised his hand to stop him. “It’s true. Had you not come along when our guide stranded us at that river, I would have been pigheaded and arrogant enough to forge ahead alone, and that would have surely been death to my family.”

“You are being too hard on yourself, Reverend.”

“Not hard enough. At any rate, you did not deserve my judgments and my derision, but that’s all I gave you. And for that, Mr. Fife, I am sorry. I’d ask your forgiveness, but I suppose you’d have to forgive me a good many times to make up for the way I treated you. So I will just say with all sincerity, I am sorry.”

Fife gave a self-deprecating wave of his hand. “You are making too big a thing of it. I mean, compared to a refined man like you, a true man of God, I am crude and all. No one would blame you. Fact is, you was probably being mighty accepting as folks go.”

Benjamin shook his head. “You did not deserve my poor treatment. My children saw what I did not, that you are a good man at heart. I am ashamed of what I did and do not deserve your forgiveness.”

“Well, I’d be a small man indeed, if I couldn’t forgive you, Reverend . . .” he paused and smiled. “Even if I thought it necessary. Don’t the Bible say to forgive seven times seventy? I figure you got a few more on account at that rate.”

Benjamin smiled also. He thought it was probably the first smile Fife had ever seen from him. “Thank you, Mr. Fife. I can’t deny you are right about the Bible. You are—” Then it hit him as if he’d been struck by the book in question itself. “Mr. Fife, you are very, very right!”

“I am?” The thatch of Fife’s brows rose again, obviously nonplussed at having a minister be enlightened by him on spiritual matters.

That night Benjamin stretched out to sleep, staring up at the night canopy of stars. He thought about the fool he had been and all he’d lost because of it. Much of those losses were gone forever, but he did not have to add Elise to that lot. All he had to do was forgive her. And he would— again and again and again. If a man like Fife could forgive
him
, how much more could Benjamin forgive the woman he loved? He only hoped she would forgive him for having even considered to do otherwise.

What would happen after that, he did not know. If her first marriage proved to be still valid, then he might have to give her up after all. The thought of losing her stabbed his heart.

Then he remembered something else. Elise had once told him something Isabel said to her on their wedding day, when Elise had assured Isabel that she didn’t want to take the child’s mother’s place.

Isabel had said, “I think she would have chosen you.”

Benjamin had thought it a sweet sentiment when he first heard it. Now he thought of the Scripture, “Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings thou hast perfected praise.”

Long ago Rebekah had given Elise her New Testament. She’d not an inkling then of the part Elise would one day have in her husband’s life and in the lives of their children. Yet Benjamin now knew God had even then been preparing the way—and what better person to use to accomplish His purpose than the one whose place Elise was destined to take? It was just the kind of thing God would do in His infinite knowledge and wisdom.

Finally the weight was lifted, and Benjamin could breathe the words he had been fighting for days. “Thy will be done, O Lord.”

CHAPTER

57

E
LISE HAD LEFT THE CABIN
door open to let in what breeze there might be on that unseasonably warm day. She was going to take the children down to the creek when she finished the breakfast dishes.

Her hands steeped in soapy water, she tensed when she heard the approaching hoofbeats. It could be Indians. It could be thieves.

It could be Benjamin.

But he had been gone only a day, and she didn’t expect him back this soon. She should have been glad at the prospect of his return, but fear dominated her feelings at the moment. Had he found Micah so quickly? Had he so soon decided the fate of their lives? A sinking sensation in her stomach told her that if it were so, it could not be a favorable decision. He’d been taut, confused, even angry when he left, and she could not believe he had changed so quickly.

Drying her hands on a cloth, she slowly walked to the door. Hannah tugged at her skirt.

“Mama,” the child said plaintively. Had she sensed the sudden flux of tension? Surely not.

“Yes, dear.” Elise lifted the child into her arms as if she could be a shield against the calamity about to descend.

“Shoe.” Hannah held up her little slipper.

Elise smiled in spite of herself. She hadn’t noticed the shoe in her daughter’s hand, so wrapped up was she in her gloomy prognostications. “I’ll get it in a minute. Let’s see who our visitor is.”

Hannah’s little intercession seemed to make Elise feel braver. She stepped into the open doorway and saw that the approaching rider was not Benjamin at all. It took a full moment before it registered just who the visitor was. Then she set Hannah down and rushed down the step into the yard.

“Papa!”

The man sitting tall and straight in the saddle of a fine-looking roan grinned, revealing a set of straight, white teeth. He reined his mount to a stop and leaped spryly from the saddle.

“
Ma petite
Elise!” His long legs covered the distance between them in two strides.

Elise opened her arms as he threw his own arms around her. She immediately detected the familiar scents associated with her father— good cologne, fine cigars, and even better whiskey. She felt like a child again in her papa’s tender embrace. Though her father had never been much of a symbol of security to her, he was still her father, and there was something quite reassuring just in that fact.

When they parted, he stood back a step to appraise her. “Ah, look at you,
ma chère
!”

She self-consciously patted her dress, the patched and mended dress she had worn when she first came to the cabin. She had the new blue calico dress to replace the one ruined by the whipping but had not felt much like wearing the gown made with fabric belonging to the woman she had suddenly begun to feel jealous of. After all, Rebekah had had what Elise was beginning to fear she would never have—Benjamin’s love, devotion, and the security of his name.

“Forgive me, Papa, I look a fright. I did not expect visitors.” She tried to smile, but her confidence was quickly ebbing.

Her father had always been very cognizant of fashion, and even when they were as penniless as paupers on the street, he saw to it that both she and he were garbed to the hilt of fashion. Even now, after no doubt many days on the trail, he looked quite dapper in a stylish suit—Elise had no doubt it represented the height of fashion in men’s clothing—with a nattily tied silk cravat and a houndstooth checked waistcoat. Handsome at fifty, his hair was still quite black and thick, with just a few streaks of gray adding a touch of distinction. A top hat, tilted just so, was perched on his head. He was clean-shaven save for a thin mustache curled rakishly at the ends. He had always worn one whether in fashion or not.

“Oh no, ma chère! You are beautiful! A vision! Even in an old, ragged dress you are . . . ah, so like your mother!” Dorian Toussaint had always spoken with a French accent, liberally peppering his speech with French, but he was American-born, a Creole of New Orleans. Elise noted his accent seemed thicker than ever, perhaps a result of time recently spent in Europe.

“Thank you, Papa.” She knew he had paid her a high compliment indeed. “Now, come in, please.”

He tied his horse to a post in the yard, then followed Elise, but not before noticing her companion for the first time.

“And who is your little friend hiding behind your skirts?”

Elise took Hannah into her arms again. “This, Papa, is Hannah, your granddaughter!”

“Ah! But I should have seen it,
non?
She has her mother’s eyes. But I think she has my nose, does she not? What a pretty creature!”

Hannah dipped her face shyly into her mother’s shoulder, carefully leaving one eye free so she could continue to observe this stranger.

Dorian made another exclamation when he entered the cabin. Isabel was sitting on the floor playing pat-a-cake with Oliver. Leah was busy removing pans from a cupboard.

“What have you here, ma chère!” Dorian said. “A regular nursery. But they can’t be yours, not all of them.”

“No, they are not. But it is a long story. Come and sit down, and I will fix you coffee or tea.”

“Oh, coffee, please. After being in Europe, I find Americans make simply horrid tea.” With a neat flip of his coattails, Dorian seated himself on the bench at the table. “But first, chère, I must know . . . are you all right? You look wonderful, but . . . well, are you
all right
?”

She was glad that he had asked, glad for the expression of real concern on his well-chiseled face. Yet she was not eager to be reminded of her all-too-recent ordeal, especially by the man who, though innocently, had been the cause of it all.

“Yes, Papa, I am well.” Forgetting the coffee for the moment, she slipped into the bench opposite him. “I admit it has not been easy, but I believe it is, at least I hope it is, behind me.” She deemed it unnecessary to delve into her present uncertainties about Benjamin.

“You are a brave child.” He sighed, his dark expressive eyes glinting. “When I returned to the country and learned what had happened . . . Ah, chère, can you ever forgive me?”

“It wasn’t your fault,” she replied, and if it was lame, it was sincere. The time for making accusations had long passed.

“Those animals! Turning you out to the slave quarters, then selling you to
him
!” He clutched his chest dramatically. “I could hardly believe it when I heard. Ah, ma chère! What you must have suffered! When I went to the plantation, I demanded satisfaction from Kendell.”

“What do you mean, Papa?”

“I challenged the filthy cur to a duel!”

“Oh no, you didn’t!” Elise gasped, her mind spinning at what the ramifications of such a deed might be.

“I did indeed, but that cowardly pig did not have the gumption to even show up at the appointed time. How you could have loved him, I do not know. And how I could have consented to that marriage, I am also perplexed.”

Elise did not know how she could have loved Kendell either, but she did know that her father had been all too anxious for the match. He, in fact, had all but pushed her into the marriage, considering it a match of his dreams—money, position, political power. Only at the last minute had his feet become slightly chilly, probably fearing the repercussions of duping such a powerful family. But again Elise remained silent on these matters.

Instead she said, “I’m happy the duel failed. You could have been killed.”

Dorian laughed. “I am the best shot on two continents!” Pausing a moment, he added, “Ma chère, I could use that coffee now.”

Elise rose and went to the hearth where the perpetual pot was still warm from breakfast. She found the nicest cup in the cupboard, which had only a few chips in it, and filled it. Setting it in front of her father, she sat down. Taking a breath, she broached the subject of Kendell Hearne again.

“Papa, how did you find Kendell? I mean, I had heard he’d lost his . . . ah . . . mental faculties.”

Dorian snorted. “In my opinion the man never had them. His mind was but a sponge for his mother’s commands.” He sipped his coffee, his little finger fastidiously raised. “But in the technical sense, at least, he seemed of sound mind when I saw him.”

“I was told not long ago by Maurice Thomson—”

“Him!” Dorian exploded. “Pah! The blackguard, the scoundrel! Of him also I sought satisfaction. I came here to rescue you and to kill him. But the scum had the audacity to get himself killed before I could get to him. Woe to me! How I wanted to avenge what happened to you, but I was robbed of it all.”