Vow Unbroken (14 page)

Henry's eyebrows lifted a bit, and he smiled. “Yes, ma'am. Heard about that. Never knew the whys of the promise though. So Andy asked, your father said no, and you did anyway?”

“Yes, he did ask for Daddy's blessing, but my father the judge thought we were too young to know what love was. He said no, that we should give it a couple of years, but there wasn't time to wait. Andrew was leaving to go in partners with his brother.” She didn't want to mention Andrew's poor financial position or that her daddy held it against him that he had no trade. The scenario fit Henry too well. “So, I just ran away, left home, and married in rebellion. Haven't seen or spoken with Daddy since. I'm not even sure if he knows he has a granddaughter.”

“You never sent word?”

“I posted three letters with folks going east, but never got a response. Daddy may not have got them, but even if he did, he didn't write back; probably hates me and decided long ago I was dead to him whether I breathed or not. I always figured if he received them, he'd insist that I come straight back to Memphis. I never wanted to leave Texas.”

Henry laughed. “So you're an independent, are you?”

She loved it that he laughed all the time now. Had she had a part in that? She hoped so. “Aren't you? Don't you want to see Texas a republic? Free of Mexican rule?”

For the next few minutes the man expounded on how the territory was part of Mexico and should stay that way. He finally stopped talking. Though she didn't care much for what he was saying, she could have listened to his voice all night.

He stood. “We best get some shut-eye. Tomorrow promises to be a tough one.”

With her pallet back under the wagon, she considered how the question of the territory's future had turned the conversation from religion to politics, and his views were as opposite in one area as in the other. Disappointed that she'd let the opportunity to witness to him slip away so easily, she promised herself she'd bring the topic up again before the journey was over, maybe on the way home.

But one way or another, she fully intended to be God's vessel to bring this man—although clearly a morally good man—to salvation. If she knew anything, she knew that being good wouldn't get anyone to Heaven. And without a doubt, his mother wanted to see him again on those golden streets someday. Sue would gladly be the teapot the Lord used to pour out some truth on the man.

She smiled at herself and at the Lord. He had always amused her with His awesome sense of humor. She remembered laughing aloud at more than one inappropriate time because He'd gotten her tickled.

A cool breeze stirred the leaves and a nightingale sang its praise.

Pondering what she'd come to know about Patrick Henry Buckmeyer on the trace—had it only been three days?—she recalled how weary he looked after the day of chopping down the bois d'arc and the oak. And that following the extra work to hitch the four mules to the wagon she'd got stuck. Yet he hadn't complained once, or said I told you so either.

Her precious little girl was smitten with him, but probably only because she'd never had a father. Sue patted herself on the back for swallowing her pride and not insisting that he keep
working when he'd called it an early day with so much daylight left. She'd let him burn it without saying a thing. And she didn't even get angry!

What a day it had been.

Conflicted at every turn, she teetered between laughing and crying. Even though she didn't understand why she'd had to get the wagon stuck, she had faith that everything would be all right. No doubt about that. God had proved Himself trustworthy to her time and again since she'd been living alone on the Sulphur Fork Prairie with two children.

Mama—God rest her soul—had taught her never to give up. She'd be proud. Her sweet prayers for others—even on her deathbed—had always awed Sue. How could she not love God after living with a mother like Patricia Abbott for twelve years? Sue still missed her.

“Father, You have blessed me so,” Sue whispered toward the sky. “Your faithfulness, Your mercy, Your everlasting, never-ending, loving-kindness. They are all so amazing.”

Even if she'd made a bad choice, she had repented.

Still, what if God had intended all along that she miss the Jefferson buyers? What would she do then? And she'd blown her chance to get Henry saved. She missed Andy and she missed her daddy and her wagon was stuck in the creek. A tear rolled down Sue's cheek as a mountain of self-pity smothered her.

How could she be so happy and full of faith and so overwhelmed and sad at the same time? Thinking back to the last time Eve's curse had visited, she chalked up the mood swings to it coming again soon. Great. That was all she needed out here on the trace. She gave in to the depression and cried softly.

H
ENRY HEARD THE LADY CRYING
in the night but decided not to go to her. He had no idea why she would be sad but figured she might be praying. Some women seemed to cry every time they prayed; his mother often had. He didn't understand that at all. How would their earthly fathers feel if they cried every time they talked to them?

Too soon the next morning, he woke. Every muscle ached and begged to stay horizontal longer, but a hard day lay ahead and wouldn't wait. He eased up, stretched a bit, and then silently went to work on a fire and getting the coffee on. With those chores seen to, he decided to handle the necessaries.

On his return, he carried a clutch of duck eggs he'd spotted in the pale moonlight right as he finished his business. He hoped Sue would be pleasantly surprised. More and more, it seemed about all he could think of was pleasing her. He wanted to see more of that smile of hers, a lot more.

“Good morning.”

He turned his head, and there it was. He didn't know what had made her so happy so early, but he was thankful. “Morning to you. Ready for some coffee? It's almost done.”

“Yes, sir.” She stood and stretched.

He should look away but couldn't help enjoying her fine figure in the flickering firelight. He cleared his throat. “Got a surprise for you.”

She pulled her shawl around her shoulders, hugged herself against the cool morning, and came toward him smiling. “Oh, you do?” Amusement filled her voice. “I can't imagine what that might be out here in this swamp.”

“Found a clutch of duck eggs.” He pointed to his hat. “Levi and the little miss like eggs?”

She smiled again.

How could he live without seeing that every day?

“Yes, they sure do; we all do! What a wonderful gift from the Lord.” She went over and peered into the hat. “How many is in there?”

“Nine. Want to splurge or save some?”

“Depends. How much do you like cake?”

“Ummm. I love cake.” He grinned. “You got everything you need?”

“Well, now, there is one contingency.”

He loved that she had a good vocabulary. Having grown up with a lady of letters, he'd been put off over the years by pretty girls with a limited selection of words. “And that would be?”

“How much honey you're willing to part with. I have everything else.”

He laughed. If only she knew the real reason he'd brought the honey jars. “I'm willing to provide a healthy sopping's worth if the cake's a good one.”

Her lips spread a bit, but she made them straighten. She did a thing with her eyes that he liked, moved them up and down quickly. He got the impression she flirted a bit. “Don't
cotton to braggin' on myself, but I guarantee you that you haven't eaten cake, Mister Buckmeyer, until you've tasted mine.”

He nodded. What he wanted to do was scoop her up and hug her until the sunrise came together with the sunset and all the time in between, but that wouldn't do. He had to play the game according to the rules, be polite and a gentleman at all times. “Want me to fix the biscuits?”

“No, sir, I'll make 'em. I like mine better than yours, if you don't mind me saying.”

“Why would I? I like yours better than mine, too. So, won't bother me a bit. As a matter of fact, if I never had to fix another meal for the rest of my life, that'd be fine with me.”

“Truly? I would have guessed otherwise.”

“No. Between Mother and the army, I got real spoiled to having my meals prepared.”

“I see.” She studied the fire's embers. “So were you really with Jackson at New Orleans? I've heard stories—”

“Yes, ma'am, sure was.”

She went to the wagon and retrieved the Dutch oven, frying pan, mixing bowl, and her fixings, talking as she went. “But I never believed them totally. How could it be true? Battle of New Orleans was in 1814, right? So, that's what? Eighteen years ago? You're not that old.”

He squatted next to the fire, enjoying its warmth. “I was always big for my age, and lying came real easy back then. By the time the Colonel found out I was only sixteen, I'd proved my worth. We were always outnumbered, and since there really wasn't anywhere to send me, he made me his personal orderly. But I saw about as much action as anyone else.”

She looked up. “So you're . . . thirty-four?”

“Yes, ma'am, and too much a gentleman to ask your age.” He stood. “Looks like we need a bit more firewood.”

“Still in my twenties, but barely.” She smiled—again! “If you could watch the fire a minute more, I'd like to take a little walk. Be back directly for that cup of coffee.”

“Yes, ma'am, of course. I can gather more wood later.” He watched her bending over and tying her shoes. Her feet seemed so small and dainty. Then he gazed after her as she walked away into the darkness, taking pleasure from her every step. He loved her smooth pace and the soft swing of her skirt. He liked that way better than those britches she'd been wearing.

No, sir, he wouldn't mind making Susannah Baylor his own one bit, and gaining his little miss in the deal would be ace-high. All he had to do was convince Sue to forget that vow of hers.

SUE TIPTOED OFF,
making sure she was well out of sight without going any farther into the woods than absolutely necessary. Gathering her skirt up, she searched the shadows for that bear and kept her ears keen for any sound of footfalls on the forest floor. Several pieces of good-size deadfall that she could handle lay near and, once finished with her morning routine, she picked them up.

She'd surprise Henry.

False dawn's first light grayed the night sky as she made her way back to the camp. Becky would be so surprised, eggs and a cake! This day had to be better than yesterday, and Sue gleefully anticipated getting the wagon freed and back on the trace.

Even with the whole of yesterday lost, she and Henry were still at least two days ahead of the train. It shouldn't be any
problem beating them to Pleasant Mound. The moon still shone bright, and by the time she reached the fire, she was humming a tune. The words came to her, so she sang softly as she prepared biscuits and then got the cake batter ready for the Dutch oven once the biscuits finished baking.

“I know that my redeemer lives. What comfort this sweet sentence gives. He lives, He lives, who once was dead. He lives, my ever-living Head.” Those were all the words she could remember, so she went back to humming.

Henry came back into camp. “Ready for that coffee now?” He grabbed a second cup. “You have a beautiful singing voice.”

She laughed and shook her head. “No, not me. Now my husband? He could belt out an amazing tenor. Thank goodness Becky took after him. And yes, I would love a cup. Got so busy mixing and making, I didn't pour myself one. Thank you.”

Henry chuckled. “Yes, your daughter and I discussed music and singing. She gave me no peace until I sang so that she could be the judge of my abilities—or inabilities, as is the case.” He laughed a little harder and handed the filled cup to her.

She accepted it and took a cautious sip. His story tickled her even more because she knew her daughter so well. “My little angel can be powerful persistent.”

He gave her a look as though he knew that. “Like I said, she made me sing, but then begged me to stop.”

“She didn't!”

“Oh, yes.”

Sue could not keep her composure a minute longer and burst out laughing. She held her coffee out to keep from spilling it and bent at the waist, holding her side with her other
hand. She let it go, couldn't help herself. “Oh, no!” She gasped for air. “Please tell me you're making this up.”

He joined in laughing with her. “No, ma'am. Not one word of it. She was beating me on the chest begging me to stop.” His body heaved, and his shoulders shook. “Said I should stick to talking.” He spoke between spasms and looked like he'd almost bust a gut.

“What's so funny?” Becky sat up on her pallet under the wagon.

Sue glanced at Henry, who was looking at her daughter, obviously trying to recover his breath. She spoke to give him more time. “Oh, I'm just so happy and excited about this day. It's sure to be a good one.”