The Yellow Rose (3 page)

For a moment there was silence between Rice and Julie. Finally, Julie said, “Rice, I think you’d better warn Brodie about Serena.”

“Why would you say that?”

Julie was examining a slight cut on her thumb. She did not answer for a moment, but when she looked up, there was a strange expression in her eyes. “Because she’s like me.”

“Like you in what way?”

“She’s got it in her to be a bad woman.”

“Oh, there is dull you are! All of us have meanness in us.”

“No, it’s different,” Julie said. “Look at Jerusalem and me. Did you ever see any two women more different? She’s good and I’m bad.”

Rice ran his hand through his black hair. A lock of it fell down over his forehead, but he paid no attention. “I don’t agree with you about yourself. We can be what we please, Julie. You’ve got something in you that’s good.”

“Jerusalem was right. You’re a fool about women.” Julie might have said more, but then Zane Satterfield stepped out of the house, accompanied by Jerusalem.

“Hello, Rice. You have any news?”

Rice got to his feet and picked up his hat. He held it, tapping it against his leg, and shook his head. “Santa Anna is on the march toward here.

Everybody’s running like rabbits.”

“You can’t blame them after what happened at Goliad,” Zane said.

“Santa Anna turns those soldiers loose, nobody will be safe. What about Sam Houston?”

“The word is,” Rice said, “that he’s gathering men to make a fight of it. As a matter of fact, I’m on my way to join him.”

“You’re going to join the army!” Julie exclaimed, staring hard at him. “How can a preacher be a soldier?”

Rice looked embarrassed. “I guess I’ll have to put my preaching aside. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself unless I did what I could to help make this land fit to live in.”

“I’ll go with you,” Zane said. “Both of us might as well be fools.” He turned and looked toward the river and said, “I don’t know about Clay, if he’s able to go.”

Clinton and Clay had appeared down the path that led to the house. Clinton was carrying a string with some large catfish on it, and when he came closer, he held them up and said, “Look here. We caught some big ones. Ma, let’s have fish for supper.”

Jerusalem smiled. “All right, but you’ll have to clean ’em. I purely hate to clean catfish.”

The meal had been so good that Clay had pronounced it a sockdolager and had gotten no argument from anyone. Julie and Jerusalem and Moriah had ganged up on the cooking and fried up not only a mountain of fresh catfish but also prepared the rabbits along with fried potatoes, hush puppies, and a huge platter full of wild green onions that flavored the meal.

Clinton had not said anything to Moriah about preaching to her, but once during the meal he said, “I know how much you like fish, Moriah. I caught these just for you.”

Moriah smiled. She loved her brother when he was not throwing one of his religious tantrums and reached over and squeezed his arm. “I sure appreciate it, Clinton. You’re the best fisherman in Texas.”

The talk soon turned to the upcoming battle with Santa Anna and his well-trained troops, and how Rice and Zane were going to join the fighting. The conversation had not gone far before Brodie, who’d said almost nothing since returning to the house from his visit, declared loudly, “I’m going with you two.”

“Son, you don’t need to be running off to fight,” Jerusalem said, but she saw that Brodie’s face was set in a determined expression.
That girl is giving him a hard time, and he’s going to show her what a fine man he is. But there’s no point to tell him that.
“Just stay around a while longer. You’ll have plenty of chance to fight.”

“No, Ma, I don’t mean to disrespect you, but I need to go with Zane and Rice.”

Everyone at the table, with the exception of Mary Aidan, knew exactly what was happening. Brodie, at the age of nineteen, was physically tough, but emotionally he was overly sensitive—especially where Serena was concerned.

Clay had said little during the meal, but he saw the stubborn streak that held Brodie and decided to wait until after dinner to say anything.

Jerusalem had gone out on the porch, where a breeze was blowing, to churn butter. Clinton had stayed inside to help clean up. As Clay sat down and watched Jerusalem churn, he was aware that she was the one woman in his life that he felt most comfortable around—at times. At other times she had a way of making him feel totally out of step and embarrassed, and he could not say why. He had said once to Rice, “That woman can pin me to the wall with just a look!”

“I’m worried about Clinton,” Jerusalem said. “His religion is too harsh.”

“He’s got a good heart. He’s just caught up in something that’s real to him. Give him some time. He’ll change.”

“I hope you’re right, Clay. I know there’s such a thing as judgment, but I’ve known some Christians who were so hard that you could strike a match on them.”

Clay did not respond. He sat there quietly, trying to think of some way to speak of what was in his heart. The trouble was he didn’t
know
what was in his heart. He only knew that this woman stirred him in a way that no woman ever had.

“Have you seen the way Rice looks at Julie?” Jerusalem asked abruptly.

“Why, I don’t reckon I have.”

Jerusalem shook her head in disgust. “You can see further than any man that I’ve ever known with your eyes, but you can’t see what’s right in front of you. He’s fallen in love with her. That’s what he’s done.”

“But he’s a preacher, and she’s—” Suddenly, Clay found himself in over his head. He had started to say, “She’s a scarlet woman,” or something of that nature, but he found he couldn’t say that to Jerusalem. He added lamely, “Well, she’s pretty wild, Jerusalem. It would never work.”

Jerusalem was not satisfied with Clay’s response. “I don’t think you know any more about women than he does.”

“Than who does?”

“Who were we talkin’ about? Rice Morgan. He wouldn’t be the first preacher to get his head turned by a pretty face.”

Clay chewed thoughtfully on his lower lip. He put his finger on the scar beside his mouth, something he often did when he was nervous, and said, “Well, to tell the truth, I have noticed that Rice looks at Julie from time to time.”

“Oh, you have!”

“Yes, and he has no business doin’ it.”

Suddenly, Jerusalem stopped churning. She half turned and faced Clay. He was caught by her motion and found something in her eyes that disturbed him.

“How have you been looking at me, Clay Taliferro?”

Clay flushed, knowing that he was doing exactly what angered and embarrassed him. He could not think of a single reply.

Jerusalem laughed a good hearty laugh and said, “Did you think I didn’t know you’re looking at me the same way?”

Clay dropped his head for a time, unable to meet her gaze. After a moment, he looked up and shrugged, trying to speak as nonchalantly as possible. “Well, I guess I knew it, but I thought no matter as long as nobody said anything.”

“Clay, go away! You are the champion dummy where women are concerned!”

Inside, while Jerusalem and Clay were talking, Julie said, “I’m going out to the garden, Rice.”

“I’ll go with you,” Rice said. He followed her out the back door, and she picked up a hoe. “I’ll do that,” he said, taking it from her. He went down to the garden and began to hoe for a time. He started to speak of what was going to happen when the war was over, and Julie suddenly interrupted him.

“Don’t get serious about me, Rice.”

Surprised, Rice turned to face her. He held the hoe in both hands, resting it on the ground, and studied her. She was not just beautiful on the outside, which everyone saw. He saw something that others did not, something deep inside her, which drew him. He could not define it even to himself, and finally he said, “Why not? You must know I’m beginning to care for you.”

“I’m a bad woman, and you’re a good man. People are what they are, and nothing can change it.”

“No, you’re wrong about that, Julie. We can choose. We can be different if we want to.”

“I wish I could care for you, Rice, but when two people come together, a man and a woman, one of them may drag the other one down.

I don’t want to be the one who drags you down. You’re one of the best men I’ve ever known, but you don’t know me.”

Rice stood there for a moment, and then he shook his head. “You’re wrong, Julie. Each one can help the other choose to be better. I’m going to fight with Houston, but I’ll be back.” He looked over toward the house and said, “I hope Jerusalem will leave the ranch. It won’t be safe here.”

Julie felt weary. These talks with Rice always seemed to drag her energy down and cause her to think on things she’d rather not have to confront about herself. “She won’t do that. She loves this place, and she’s stubborn.”

Lucita Lebonne looked up and saw Brodie Hardin approaching. She stood beside the house, holding the clothes that she had hung out to dry, and waited until he dismounted. She was thirty-four now, pure Spanish, and still beautiful, with glossy black hair and warm brown eyes. She had lost her husband to sickness, and it had been the Hardin family who had kept her and her two children, Mateo and Serena, from abject poverty. Jerusalem and Clay Taliferro had brought her from the shack, where her husband had spent his last days, and seen to it that she got a land grant from Stephen Austin. Clay Taliferro had been her husband’s friend in the old days, and he had been kind to her, helping her after her husband had died.

“Buenos días,” Lucita said. “How are you, Brodie?”

“I am fine,” Brodie said. He stepped off his horse and removed his hat, the breeze ruffling his hair. He looked very young, but he was tall and lean and strong.

“How is all your family?”

“Well, I guess they’re kind of scared like everybody else. I reckon Santa Anna will be here pretty soon with his army.”

“Will your people leave, do you think?”

“I don’t reckon anybody could make Ma leave.” Brodie smiled. “She’s as stubborn as a blue-nosed mule.”

“And Señor Clay, is he recovered from his wound?”

“He’s lots better. Zane and me and Rice Morgan are going to join General Houston.”

“It is sad that all this has come. I had hoped for peace,” Lucita said.

“I guess we all did.” Brodie shifted uneasily and then said, “I’m never gonna forget what your son did for me at Goliad. If it hadn’t been for Mateo, me and Clay would have both been butchered.”

“I’m glad he was there to help.”

The two stood there awkwardly, then Lucita said, “Serena is out at the barn milking. I know you didn’t come to see an old woman.”

Brodie grinned crookedly. “You ain’t an old woman, Señora. Not you! I don’t know why you don’t get you another husband. I know you’ve had chances.”

“It is too soon,” Lucita said.

“Well, I’ll go mosey down to the barn.”

“You can stay for supper.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

Serena was milking the goat, but she heard footsteps coming. Looking up quickly, she saw Brodie and smiled. “Brodie, I’m glad to see you.”

“I’m glad to see you, too.” He came over to stand beside her and watched as she continued to milk. “I never could milk,” he said. “Clinton can beat me a mile.”

“I expect you’re too rough,” she said as she aimed the stream of milk into the pail.

Brodie stood there, making conversation, as she asked him about his family. He told her about the herd of cattle they were building up to sell at market in New Orleans, and then asked, “Have you heard from Mateo?”

“No, not a word.”

“I ain’t forgot how he saved me and Clay there at Goliad. That was a bad time. I thought we were goners for sure.”

Serena set the bucket down and then turned to face him. There was an air of glowing health about her. Her hair was pure black, and she had strange-colored violet eyes. It was these eyes that drew men as well as the curves of her developing body. She was eighteen now and a full-grown woman. As she watched Brodie, she knew exactly what was going on.
He wants to kiss me, and he’s afraid to.
She said, “Mateo is a good man, but he is a firm believer in Santa Anna and the cause to rid Texas of the Americans.”

“I’d sure hate to be in a battle and look up and see Mateo on the other side. I don’t know what I’d do.”

“It mustn’t come to that,” Serena said. She reached out and put her hand on his chest, and she saw his eyes flare suddenly. He stepped forward, put his arms around her as she had known that he would, and kissed her.

It was an awkward thing, and she stepped back, laughing, and said, “You’re a naughty boy, Brodie Hardin.”

“I’m not a boy. I’m a man.”

“A man! Well, I’m glad to hear it.” Brodie reached out for her, but she evaded him. “You mustn’t do that anymore, Brodie.”

“Why not? Serena, you know how I feel about you. I want to marry you.”

Serena knew of his intentions, for he had spoken of them before, but for all of his height and strength, he still seemed like a little boy in her sight. “No, you don’t want to marry me. You’re too young.”

Brodie stopped and stared at her. “You’re making fun of me, and you’re getting to be a flirt, Serena.”

“I am not!”

“No? What about Jeff Bettis?”

“What about him?”

“You think I don’t know that he comes calling on you?”

“He comes calling. What of that?”

“I don’t like it.”

Serena felt sorry for Brodie. She liked him a great deal, as she liked all of the Hardins. But she was not ready to marry yet. Brodie was so infatuated with her that she felt smothered at times by his constant attention. “I don’t want any more talk about marriage. You’re too young.”

Anger flared up in Brodie, which was an unusual thing. He was usually gentle natured and sweet tempered, but he had thought about nothing but Serena for weeks now. While he had been gone with the other young men to fight with the Texans against Santa Anna, he had done little but dream about her. And when it looked as though he would be shot, she was the one who had been on his mind. “You ought not to torment a man,” he said roughly and turned and stalked blindly away. The bucket was in his way, and his boot bumped against it, spilling the milk. He gave it a kick and left.