Hope Reborn (23 page)

Wallace’s pistol rested smack dab in the middle of the desk right on top of her stack of papers. Her heart beat faster. She should just turn around and go back to the porch.

She could take Henry’s Black to the brush arbor. He’d taught her how to saddle. Bosh, she was being silly. Just pick it up and move it. No problem, right? Then why did her insides shake?

It wasn’t the commodore’s pistol. Chester had buried that one. She slipped around and flopped into Henry’s chair. One finger and a thumb on cold steel, and twenty-nine years melted away.

She closed her eyes and stood in the doorway to her parent’s bedroom again. The man she’d always counted as her daddy, held her mother up by her hair, slapping her hard across her face then backhanding the other cheek.

“Stop! Stop it!” She lifted his pistol and pointed it at him, steadied it with her left hand, exactly like he had taught her. “Stop hitting her!”

The weapon exploded. The flash blinded her.

She jerked in Henry’s chair, and a black powder stench burned her nose.

A scream—just as one had sounded that day so long ago.

She opened her eyes. Her ears still reverberated, and her heart thrashed against her chest. She placed the weapon on the desk’s corner and rested her head on her forearm next to it.

“Henry, my Henry.”

He could never know.  

The steamboat’s thrum changed. Henry set his fork down and looked around. “You feel that?”

Levi followed his gaze. “Yes, sir, what is it?”

Listening a bit first, he nodded. Of course. “We must be getting close. Captain’s slowing the paddle down. Once he gets it stopped, he’ll reverse her. We’ll dock soon enough. Eat up.”

About a mile out, movement on shore caught his attention. The lanterns’ light bathed the dock and shadowed the countless bodies in motion. Same old wharf.

Place hadn’t changed much since he and Sue had brought her cotton there twelve years ago. He smiled at the memory. Oh, how he had loved the woman. No one would ever compare.

But that trip needed to remain in his past. He’d come on a different mission this time. Efforts to buy Mammy’s brother set the events in motion. Hopefully it’d end without him having to kill another man.

Pride, being so full of himself back then; that’s what had come home to roost. Pride goes before a fall, scripture says it does. And he fell alright, more than once. But got himself back up every time, and.…

“Mister Henry, sir?”

He turned. “Jean Paul, find out anything?”

“Yes, sir, the purser says we can stay in our rooms until noon tomorrow at no extra charge. They’ve got to take on wood. Said it’s liable to be days before they can book enough passengers and load enough cargo to go up river again.”

Henry nodded at the news, figured as much. “While you’re locating Glover, Levi and I will work on securing a return berth.”

“Yes, sir.” The younger man turned to the rail and watched as the pilot maneuvered the side-wheeler into proper position. Shortly, with hardly a noticeable bump, the Creole docked.

Slaves on shore and river men aboard worked feverishly to secure the steamboat to the massive piers and making safe the means to get from ship to shore over the great Mississippi.

Soon, two wide gangplanks offered tenable safe passage from the riverboat to land without getting wet. Those with somewhere to go hurried off, laden with carpet bags, hat boxes, and various and sundry personal goods.

The dudes in beaver pelt top hats and fancy waistcoats over checkered britches amused Henry the most. Had any of them worked a day in their lives? A few of the ladies, dressed to the nines, acted almost as comical as their men.

But most of the passengers were just ordinary folks like him. While he watched from the top rail, the movement and buzz of the mass of humanity melded into a blur, replaced by a horrid sense of doom.

Had he come back to New Orleans only to meet his demise? He’d cheated death so many times since that first horrible day when the Redcoats charged Jackson’s bulwarks.

Had the devil demanded his due, and his sins finally found him out?    

A bark opened May’s eyes. She rose up from off Henry’s desk. A haze hung in his library. Was something on fire? She sniffed. Gun smoke? Had sanity left her?

Another bark sounded closer. Newly Blue. Was that him? She remembered him staying, but what was he yapping about?

In a sleep grog, she didn’t want to think about it and laid her head back down on the desk. Should go get in Henry’s bed. She wanted him home and didn’t ever want to be separated from him again.

Could he have really stopped the commodore? Was her love that much of a man?

It all swirled together, her mother in her deathbed, telling her about her real father, mixed with that most horrible of days. She squinted her eyes shut, willing the images away.

Heavy boots pounded on the porch, trace chains rattled, children chattered, then the front door opened and more footfalls fell outside in the hall. May sat upright, straightened her back, and told her lips to smile, but they didn’t seem to obey.

Captain Rusk burst in, looked around a little frantically, then stared right at her. Shortly, he filled his lungs then smiled. “You fine, Miss May?”

She nodded then decided to lie. “Yes. I must have fallen asleep.” She stretched. “My goodness, Wallace, what is it?”

He walked to the side of the desk, picked up his pistol, sniffed the barrel then turned a full circle looking everything over, but she had no idea what he could be looking for. He didn’t answer her.

“Wallace? Why are you back so early? What caused you to barge in here like a ruffian?”

Stepping toward the far wall, he spoke. “Newly came got us.” He made his way to the place where Henry and Sue’s picture had hung and stuck his finger in a hole there, staring at it.

Where did that hole come from? She didn’t remember seeing it before.

He faced her. “Accident?” He still had the gun in his hand.

Had she fired the thing?

Chester burst into the room with Mammy and the other ladies right behind her.

“What happened, May? Why did you shoot the pistol?”

She looked from her brother to the ranger. Her bottom lip quivered. Had she shot the commodore all over again? Tears welled. Someone sobbed.

It was her.

Then the dam burst, and tears flowed down her cheeks. She couldn’t stop weeping, had no control. Strong arms engulfed her, just like that day so long ago.

Chester hugged her tight and whispered in her ear. “It’ll be alright, baby girl, I’ll fix everything.”

“He’s going to the cock fights tonight; in a big barn just past The Market, right on the river.”

Henry nodded, sounded like Glover. “Is your uncle going with him?”

“Yes, sir. He said Mister Bull hasn’t let him out of his sight since he bought him.”

Henry turned, grasped the top rail with both hands, and leaned back. “You seen Levi?”

“No, sir.”

“Is the dining room open?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Let’s wait for him there.”

The Creole wasn’t the grandest steamer on the river, but nice enough. Food tasted better than passable, but compared to Mammy’s cooking, fell woefully short.

Then again, so did everyone’s everywhere. He only picked at the fish he’d ordered. The rock in his gut didn’t leave much room for food.

He hated it being his fault, him and his big mouth. Why was he so stupid back then? Just didn’t see any way to beat the devil around the stump on this one.

Oh, Lord, make my crooked paths straight, blot out my sins. Keep me from spilling more blood. But Lord, if I have to, if he gives me no choice, keep me safe and sound.

He rubbed his left arm, still sore, but not too bad.

Jean Paul didn’t seem to have any trouble with his gumbo and fried rice. Normally, Henry would have been right there with him, but the thought of spicy only seemed to grow the rock.

Halfway through dessert, a nice looking cobbler he couldn’t bring himself to put another bite of into his mouth, Levi strolled in like just another day had dawned, and the coming evening held no malice.

“We can sail noon tomorrow if we want, the Louisiana has plenty of open berths, and if we should have to stay over a day, there’s no less than three heading up river then.”

“Excellent, Glover and Jean Paul’s uncle are going to the cock fights tonight. Hopefully, he will see his way clear to trade.”

Levi nodded toward a waiter as he neared. “A bowl of that gumbo when you get a chance.” The ranger wolfed his soup down like it might be his last meal.

Oh, Lord, don’t let anything happen to Levi.

The thought sent a shudder down Henry’s spine. He’d gone to war more for the boy’s sake more than Houston’s or Texas’.

Sue and Rebecca had been beside themselves when Levi announced he would join up with Houston once word of the Alamo massacre reached Clarksville. Then on the way, finding Wallace….

What a Godsend that boy had been.

Oh, Lord, if one of us has to die tonight, let it be me instead of Levi.

Why was he being so morose? If anyone died that evening, it would be Bull Glover.

Too soon, the lanterns and gas lights cast the city in hues of pale yellow and grey. Time to beard the lion, or some such nonsense, exactly what did that saying mean?

Didn’t matter, what did was getting Mammy’s brother back to Texas and settling once and for all the festered offense Glover carried.

Quarter mile past The Market, Jean Paul pointed to a big tin-roofed building. A steady stream of men with a few ladies hurried to its lantern-lit double front doors. “Looks like we found the place.”

“I believe you’re right.” Levi stepped in front like he’d assigned himself point.

Henry let him; Glover had no quarrel with the ranger.

Inside, a mass of humanity crowded around a knee-high wall with two gamecocks circling each other in the cockpit. First look, he didn’t spot his one time friend, then he caught his eye.

Even in the dim light and through the wrinkles, he’d never forget that stare.

With each feign and dodge, the crowd groaned and jeered or moaned or cheered at the world’s oldest spectator sport. Finally, the combatants, combs and wattles cut off to remove vulnerabilities, engaged for real.

Feathers flew. The bigger fowl raked the small bird with his bone spurs, but little man struck back with his iron spikes.

Big boy fluttered then faltered. A black man jumped the wall and retrieved the beaten rooster before the smaller cock could strike a death blow.

Groans and cheers were followed by demands for payment of lost wagers. It surprised Henry that so many ladies attended, but why would the blood lust only infect the male of the species?

Apparently it didn’t.

Glover pushed past the man next to the ring and stepped over the short wall. He pointed right at Henry’s nose then cupped both hands around his mouth.

“People.” Then even louder. “Folks!” His booming voice quieted most. “Check out the big gun! Patrick Henry Buckmeyer in the flesh, next Governor of Texas if the papers have their way. What took you so long, boy? Didn’t you get any of my letters?”

“Hello, Bull. Got here fast as I could, once I heard you’d acquired something I want.”

The toady nodded, glanced over his shoulder at Jean Paul’s uncle, then squared on Henry. “What’s so special about my nigger?”

Jean Paul stepped forward. “He’s my uncle.”

“So, Patty Boy—except I heard you go by Henry now—what’s the matter, son? Didn’t like the name we gave you?” Bull glanced at Jean Paul then back to Henry. “Now I’ll admit it is touching. You wanting to buy your house nigger’s kin. Very noble of you, Patty Boy. That your bed warmer?”

A few laughed, more groaned, and the ones behind Glover pushed back and to both sides out of the line of fire. Henry wanted to put a mini ball in the man’s mouth and shut him up.

But that wouldn’t get him what he wanted. Bless God, he’d learned a long time ago to keep his wits around such blowhards. “How much you want for your man there, Bull?”

“What I want, Patty, is to settle things between us. I want you to step over that wall. We’ll finish what you started in ’14.”

“And what if I do step over, then what?”

“If you survive, he’s yours for the twelve hundred I gave for him.”

Henry glanced around. “Who’s place is this?”

An older man stepped forward. “Mine, name’s Bastrop Elrod.”

“Any objections?”

“None from me. You two want to go at it, be my guests. I would like a few minutes to book a few bets if you don’t mind.”

“Fine then, Bull. I’ll fight you if that’s what it takes. Write out a bill of sale and give it to Elrod there, and once this is over, we’ll give him your coin.”

“Good.” Bull shed his coat and went to unbuttoning his shirt. “Been waiting a long time for this, Patty Boy.”

After three ruined pieces of innocent, lily white paper lay crumpled littering the floor, May gave up flinging any more ink. She wanted to go somewhere and hide, but where?

On one hand, she wanted Henry home, but on the other, dreaded his return. Within seconds no doubt, someone would surely whisper in his ear that he couldn’t marry her; that she was a crazy lady; that she shot Wallace’s pistol at the wall—right where their mother’s picture had hung.

Once more, the commodore would have ruined her life.

She hated him, but she loved him, too, which nauseated her a bit. How could she love such an awful human being?

Her brain tried to remember all the good times and accuse her for shooting him dead, make her out to be the deranged one. Maybe she should have shot herself that day, not him.

A light rap preceded the library door swinging open, and Chester strolled in holding two steaming cups. “Want to sit on the porch? Mammy made us hot toddies.”

She held her hand out. “No, I couldn’t abide seeing anyone. They all surely think I’ve lost my mind.”

He set the mug on the desk then settled into the right hand wingback. “No one is going to say anything, May. They all know it was an accident.”

“No they don’t, they think I’m crazy. I saw the looks on their faces.” She glanced toward the sabotaged lighter space on the wall.