Bandit's Hope (43 page)

Wiping his eyes, Uncle Silas beamed at his wife. "The Lord has blessed this day, Odell McRae. All of our children will sleep under one roof tonight."

She clasped her hands. "It’s been a long time since that happened."

As was their custom, the family rushed outside to greet the newcomers. Tiller took the chance to pull Mariah aside for a kiss. "What do you think of your new family, Mrs. McRae?"

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she rested her head on his shoulder. "I can see where you get your humor, goodness, and amazing gift for love." She angled her head. "Not to mention your irresistible charm."

He raised her chin with his finger. "You see all that in this rowdy bunch?"

She nodded. "They’re wonderful, Tiller."

"I’m glad you think so because there’s one more to meet. You’ll like Duncan. He has a bigger appetite than me."

"Oh my." She regarded the table with a worried frown. "Will there be enough to feed you both?"

Laughing, Tiller tugged her toward the door. Clinging to each other’s waists, they squeezed onto the porch like true McRaes to be part of the welcoming party.

FORTY-NINE

M
ariah followed Tiller off the Trace and into the yard, her muscles tired and sore from riding the train. Rainy had met them at the station in Jackson and brought their mounts. Rounding the house, they found Otis, Miss Vee, and Dicey smiling from the porch. It reminded Mariah of huddling in the mists on a different porch with her Scuffletown family.

After hugs and kisses all around, Dicey and Rainy went back to work, and Mariah led the horses to the barn, thrilled with the familiar routine. It felt wonderful to be home.

Later, seated around the kitchen table with their loved ones, she and Tiller shared stories of their journey, including one of Silas’s tales that had Otis bouncing and clapping his hands—until Tiller shot out of his chair, wiggling his finger. "I almost forgot, Otis. I have something for you."

Spinning, he hurried to the pack he’d tossed into a corner. Rummaging inside, he came up with a bundle wrapped in newspaper and tied with a string. Handing it to Otis, he straightened with a smile.

Otis blinked up at him. "What’s this?"

"Go on, open it."

Otis seemed unsure whether to look at Tiller or the package in his lap. With trembling fingers, he yanked the end of the string. The paper fell away to reveal legal tender in large denominations, stacked on top of a fat leather book. Otis gasped and cut his eyes to Tiller. "This here’s my money." He gently ran his thumb along the spine of the book. "And my new Bible."

Tears in his eyes, Tiller nodded. "I got one for myself, too." He glanced up at Mariah and Miss Vee. "One for each of us, in fact."

Otis shook his head. "It’s too much currency, son. I never had this much stashed in my life." He peeled off more than half of the wads of cash and handed it up to Tiller. "Take this back."

Tiller wrapped his hands around Otis’s and guided the money to his lap. "I won’t be taking anything back, sir. Consider it interest on a loan."

Sniffing, Otis wiped his eyes on his sleeve. "It’s a blessing you didn’t get shanghaied on the trail, carrying this much loot around."

The irony of his words struck the group at once, and laughter rang out.

When the room grew quiet, Miss Vee reached for Mariah’s hand. "I don’t want to spoil your good mood, honey, but I suppose you have to know." She glanced at Otis. "There wasn’t a single boarder the whole time you were gone."

Mariah smiled at Tiller. They’d spent time on the long trip home discussing the future of the inn. "I’m not surprised, Miss Vee."

She blew out a breath. "Well, I am. We always pick up in the summer."

Mariah smoothed a wrinkle in the tablecloth. "The Trace is fading into disuse. I expect there will be less and less traffic in the months ahead."

Miss Vee seemed near tears.

Her own eyes filling, Mariah smiled at them both. "Would it be so bad if Bell’s Inn became just a house where people live and raise a family?"

Disbelief narrowed Miss Vee’s eyes. "You mean close our doors?"

"We’ll accept weary travelers who wander by," Tiller said, "but in the meantime we’ll go on like we have."

Otis sat so quietly, Mariah nudged Tiller.

"Is something troubling you, sir?" Tiller asked.

Otis barely glanced up. "Nothing important."

Mariah leaned across the table. "Go on, tell us."

His mouth worked, but nothing came out."

Miss Vee wiped her eyes. "Otis was thinking to ask for a job and stay on here. But now, well …" She shrugged.

Tiller couldn’t contain his glee. Jumping from his chair, he knelt beside Otis. "I think that’s a fine idea, considering I planned to ask you to stay on and help me around the place."

Otis perked up. "You reckon there’s enough to keep us both busy?"

Tiller patted his back. "I’ll make sure of it." He gave Miss Vee a firm nod. "Both of you have a home here as long as you want."

As if she couldn’t take it in, Miss Vee stared at Mariah. "So we’ll all just go on living here?" She blinked. "Like a family?"

Tiller smiled. "We are a family, Miss Vee."

She pressed her fingers to her quavering mouth and nodded.

Mariah reached for her hand. "One day, I’d like for Tiller to build me a big house on this spot." She winked at him. "To make room for dozens of little McRaes. For now, I’m quite happy where we are."

Miss Vee pushed up from the table. "That reminds me. You two come see your surprise."

They filed up the kitchen stairs and followed her down the hall. At the door to Father’s room, Mariah had to stop and remind herself that it was hers now. Hers and Tiller’s.

Miss Vee swept inside then stood back to await their reaction.

Tiller looked stunned then roared with laughter.

Mariah gasped and spun in a circle, trying to see everything at once.

Miss Vee had worked a marvel. The space was a perfect blend of their personalities. Tiller’s hat rack stood in the corner beside his washstand. Mariah’s vanity with all her favorite trinkets on top had replaced her mother’s. Miss Vee had repapered the walls, half with the pattern from Mariah’s room, half with Tiller’s. Even the bedspread was an expression of their union. She’d cut their quilts in two and sewn the pieces down the middle.

Mariah ran to hug her neck. "It’s the most perfect surprise ever. Thank you so much."

Obviously pleased with herself, she beamed proudly. "I put a lot of love in it, honey. I hope you’ll be able to feel it."

"We already do, Miss Vee," Tiller said, kissing her cheek.

Otis tugged on her sleeve. "Let’s go, Viola, and let these young people rest and enjoy your gift."

"Hmm? Oh yes, of course." Blushing, she backed out the door behind Otis.

Melting into Tiller’s arms, Mariah breathed deeply of the new smell in the air. No longer the stench of death, the scent was a pleasing blend of wallpaper paste and new rugs, her rose water and Tiller’s hair pomade.

Mariah made a vow on the spot to forget the suffering she’d witnessed inside the room. Instead, she’d cherish her parents’ memories and honor them by taking joy in her new life.

She would remember to be grateful for every breath she breathed, and to thank God every day for His mercy.

J
OHNNYCAKE

Scald 1 pint of milk and put to 3 pints of Indian meal, and half pint of flour—bake before the fire. Or scald with milk two-thirds of the Indian meal, or wet two-thirds with boiling water, add salt, molasses and shortening, work up with cold water pretty stiff and bake as above.

I
NDIAN
S
LAPJACK
(Skillet Bread)

One quart of milk, 1 pint of Indian meal, 4 eggs, 4 spoons of flour, little salt, beat together, baked on gridles [
sic
], or fry in a dry pan, or baked in a pan which has been rub’d [sic] with suet, lard, or butter.

Amelia Simmons,
American Cookery

(Hartford, CT: Hudson and Goodwin, 1796)

H
ASTY
P
UDDING
(circa 1833)

Boil water, a quart, three pints, or two quarts, according to the size of your family; sift your meal, stir five or six spoonfuls of it thoroughly into a bowl of water; when the water in the kettle boils, pour into it the contents of the bowl; stir it well, and let it boil up thick; put in salt to suit your own taste, then stand over the kettle, and sprinkle in meal, handful after handful, stirring it very thoroughly all the time and letting it boil between whiles. When it is so thick that you stir it with great difficulty, it is about right. It takes about half an hour’s cooking. Eat it with milk or molasses. Either Indian meal or rye meal may be used. If the system is in a restricted state, nothing can be better than rye hasty pudding and West India molasses. This diet would save many a one the horrors of dyspepsia.

Lydia M. Child,
American Frugal Housewife,

facsimile 12th ed. (Boston: Applewood Books), 65.

CHOCTAW RECIPES:

P
ASHOFA

1 pound cracked corn, pearl hominy

2 quarts water, add more if needed

1 pound fresh lean pork, meaty backbone Salt

Wash and clean corn. Bring water to boil and add corn. Cook slowly, stirring often. When corn is about half done, add the fresh pork. Cook until the meat and corn are tender and soft. The mixture should be thick and soupy. Cooking time is about four hours. Add no salt while cooking. Each individual salts to his/her own taste. (If meaty backbone is not available, use fresh chopped pork, small pieces. Pork chops are good to use.)

B
ANAHA

2 cups cornmeal

1 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon soda

1½ cups hot water

Corn shucks, boiled 10 minutes

Mix dry ingredients. Add water until mixture is stiff enough to handle easily. Form small oblong balls the size of a tennis ball and wrap in corn shucks. Tie in middle with corn shuck string, or use oblong white rags (8x10 inches) cut from an old sheet. They are much better boiled in shucks. Drop covered balls into a deep pot of boiling water. Cover and cook 40 minutes. Serve.

Article from the Choctaw newspaper
Bishinik,
unknown date.

Marcia Gruver

Marcia is a full-time writer who hails from Southeast Texas. Inordinately enamored by the past, she delights in writing historical fiction. Marcia’s deep south-central roots lend a Southern-comfortable style and touch of humor to her writing. Through her books, she hopes to leave behind a legacy of hope and faith to the coming generations.

When she’s not plotting stories about God’s grace, Marcia spends her time reading, playing video games, or taking long drives through the Texas hill country. She and her husband, Lee, have one daughter and four sons. Collectively, this motley crew has graced them with eleven grandchildren and one great-granddaughter—so far.

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