Hope Reborn (21 page)

At first, he was his fun old self, and she enjoyed his company, then the scene changed. He opened the closed door and walked in on her and Chester. She bolted upright.

The no she’d screamed in her sleep fresh on her lips. She swallowed hard and looked about. Where was she?

Oh, yes, Henry’s room.

She turned over and squished the feather pillow beneath her face, her heart still racing, fooled by the night vision.

The man was long dead and gone.

Her fault; she’d done it. Gracious! She hadn’t had that horrible dream one time while Henry slept under the same roof, then the exact night he leaves, she dreamed of the commodore and the day he died.

The swaying seemed worse the closer the stage got to Marshall. The Belle never rocked like that coach. Henry understood why Sue hated them so, but they beat horseback for speed.

He touched Levi’s boot with his own. His nephew opened his eyes.

“We there?”

“Getting close.”

The ranger glanced at Jean Paul who slept in the far corner then back. “Why’d you wake me?”

“I’ve been thinking about selling the stage line. What’s your take?”

He shrugged. “Last I heard, it’s turning a fair profit. Why sell?”

“Ever heard of the Butterfield?”

“Who hasn’t? What about them?”

“They’ve got a buyer running around scooping up all the little stage lines like the Clarksville Belle. They haven’t made us an offer yet, but word is, they will.”

“Do we need the coin?”

“No, but of late I’ve been reading a lot about trains. Seems to me they’re the up and coming preferred way to travel. Thought if we do sell, I’d buy us some railroad stock.”

“Don’t see how you can ferry a locomotive pulling a mess of boxcars across the Mississippi.”

“True, but sooner or later someone will figure out how to bridge it.”

He nodded “You’re probably right.”

“And when that happens.…”

“Whatever you think, Uncle, but I have enjoyed owning a piece of the Belle.”

“Me, too. Trains sure don’t sway like these things. You ever ridden on one?”

“Can’t say that I have.”

“They roll real smooth.” He rapped his knuckles on the window’s frame. “Don’t have to stop every ten or twelve miles to change horses either.”

“True, I hear tell they have dinner cars and sleepers with real beds. Wouldn’t that be something? Travel while you dream all stretched out proper.”

Before he could agree, the driver sounded his bugle. The coach swayed hard to the right. Jean Paul sat up. “We there?”

“Seems so.”

“Marshall?”

Henry grinned. “Hope so.”

“Is that yarn Wallace tells about Whetstone true?” 

Levi laughed. “We both heard it for a fact, but who knows? Him talking the powers that be into granting him a township just by passing the gentlemen a jug of whiskey.”

Henry waved him off. “He was just proving a point. They were concerned about the water. His home brew was the proof, and don’t guess getting them soaked hurt any.”

“Either way, it’s a good yarn.”

Even with the two-hour layover, not bad for the first twenty-four hours of his trek, a hundred and sixteen miles. At that rate, he should make it back in the ten days he figured.

As the stage—with a new driver and fresh horses—pulled out of Marshall with the brag of reaching Shreveport by dinner, Henry let his mind wander back to Clarksville.

More specifically, he pondered his home and the beauty who resided in his room awaiting his return.

He thought of his life with Sue, from her riding in wearing her husband’s britches, then all the wonderful memories in-between—that and going through that last delivery with her.

When she passed, his life seemed over; would have been, except for his babies. She’d left him a powerful good reason to live.

Then May waltzed into the Donoho.

He’d considered the importance of her salvation. She was a good woman, moral with integrity. Sue’d definitely thought it highly important, but did he have to? She could come around to receiving the Lord after he married her.

His girls came to mind. Mary Rachel was getting near marrying age. Breathing a heavy sigh, he could hardly think of it, did not relish the prospect. He’d told all his daughters if they wanted his blessing, not to fall in love with a man who didn’t love the Lord.

What kind of example would marrying May be?

Mercy, Lord, show her how much she needs You, soften her heart, make a way for us to be together.

At that exact moment, May sat on the porch in Henry’s rocker with the youngest Buckmeyer baby girl on her lap and watched the sky to the northwest. “Looks like rain to me, Miss May.”

“I think so, too, but we’ve been so hot and dry, I suppose we could use a good soaking.”

“Mammy says the angels play in the raindrops.”

“Is that right, Bonnie?”

“Mm humm, and then they paint the rainbow when it’s over.”

May leaned back and studied the eight-year-old. “Maybe, I don’t know. I’ve never seen an angel. Have you?”

The girl traced her finger along May’s cheek. “No, ma’am, but I think an angel would look a lot like you if I was to see one.”

“What a sweet thing to say. Thank you, that’s very kind of you.”

“Mister Chester told Mammy that you wasn’t borned again. Is that right, Miss May? You don’t love God and Jesus? I sure want you to be my mother, but daddy can’t marry you if you’re not saved.”

“Did Mammy tell you that?”

“No, ma’am. We were playing hide and seek, and I was under a big stack of sheets, and Mister Chester was helping her boil the wash. He said it. Mammy just kept saying, ‘Uh huh. Uh huh. I know dat’s right.’”

Bad enough her brother talked to Mammy about her religious state or lack thereof, but if Mammy had gone and told Bonnie something like that, she’d…she’d.…

Well, good to know she hadn’t, so all she needed to do was read Chester the riot act.

“Do you want to be my mother?”

“I would love that, sweetheart. You’re a wonderful little girl. I love you and all your sisters. And Houston, too. Being here with you all has been wonderful.”

“I like it, too. So why don’t you just ask Jesus to save you? I know He will. He’s supposed to love everyone. Then you and Daddy can get married, and you can be my mother, and we’ll all live happily ever after.” The child sat up and smiled her beautiful, precious little grin. “Just like in your stories. Right?”

“I believe it is.” She chuckled. “Sounds great. I sure hope it all works out; I love your daddy something fierce.”

“I do to; I hate it when he’s gone.”

“Me, too.”

“We going to have us a real big wedding, aren’t we? Rebecca got to be at his and Mama’s, but she says it wasn’t a great big one. Just her and Mama and Grandpa and Levi and Grandpa’s housekeeper and, uh, of course Daddy was there, and Blue Dog. He was Newly’s daddy. Did you know Blue Dog?”

May laughed, not so mad anymore at Chester. How could she with the baby in her lap telling all her innocent little stories and asking her piercing naïve questions?

“I didn’t know him, Newly’s the first dog I met of yours. And you know what? I’d love to have the biggest wedding ever. Would you be want to be my flower girl?”

Bonnie jumped to her feet and clamped. “Oh, yes! Can I? I know how, too. I have to drop petals where you’re going to walk because you’ll be the bride. If –” She put her hands on her hips and cocked her head. “You get saved.”

Then she came close and placed a little hand on each of May’s cheeks and peered straight into her eyes. “I’ll be your flower girl, and you’ll be my mother. May I call you Mama now so I can get used to it?”

Tears brimmed May’s eyes. She didn’t know what to say. Did everything really hinge on her swallowing Henry’s ridiculous beliefs? Could she fake it? That’d be a lie, no way to start a new life.

Placing her hands over Bonnie Claire’s, she pulled them around her neck, lifting her onto her lap and into a big hug. “I’d love that, but let’s wait and ask your father. See what he has to say.”

“Alright, but he’ll say yes. I know he will, and that will be wonderful, Mama.”

Love caught in her throat and choked her. May pushed the dear one out half an arm’s length and pursed her lips.

Bonnie Claire giggled. “I was only practicing.”

Another hug ensued, that one bigger and tighter and longer. Laura called her to her studies. The eight-year-old slipped off and skipped inside.

May rocked a while. How could she live without that sweet baby in her life? She closed her eyes and pictured what her and Henry’s baby would look like. He sure threw handsome children.

Didn’t really matter, she’d take another Houston or Bonnie or any of his offspring. Maybe a girl with her curls. She fluffed her hair. Or maybe not. As much as she loved it, her coiffures proved plenty bothersome, especially on rainy days.

A freshening gust brought her to her feet. The clouds had deepened to a dark grey. No lightning or thunder yet, but the wind sure seemed to be blowing it her way.

She watched for a few minutes then retreated to his library. In spite of the salt in her eyes, maybe she could sling a bit of ink today. Be fun to have a stack of chapters ready for Henry to read on his return.

Halfway through the first page, the rain started. It smelled delicious, clean and fresh like newly cut grass mingled with bath salts. She loved it. If only he could be here to enjoy it with her. If only.…

She set her quill down. She sure hoped she wasn’t playing some awful trick on herself. She could not live a lie, but was Bonnie right? Would that be a wedge that drove him apart from her?

Not being able to swallow the myth his first wife leaned on—and obviously drilled into him, he’d loved Sue enough to change. Could she love him that much? Enough to join his church and all that entailed? What could it hurt?

Would May’s unbelief keep him from marrying her? Surely it would not.

A flash of lightning lit the room. Booming thunder followed on its heels. Sounded right outside her window. She grinned. It’d be hers, too, soon enough if she had her way.

Small footfalls echoed down the hall. The door flew open, and Houston stared at her only a second before throwing himself into her lap. “Save me, Miss May.”

She hugged him tight and kissed his cheek. What was it with these Buckmeyer children and salvation? “How about you saving me?”  

Sure pleased Henry that the driver hit his arrival time into Shreveport almost to the minute. But the closer he got to New Orleans, the more he dreaded going back to the city.

He’d been there for, what? Twenty-plus hours with Sue? But he didn’t go to The Swamp or anywhere else Bull was known to haunt back then, not that he’d even thought once about his comrade-in-arms during that trip.