Hunter's Prize (10 page)

There were other boxes under his bed, filled with igneous, sedimentary, and metamorphic rock. These were his favorites, the gemstones, each labeled and tucked into the special box Papa built for them.

Wriggling at the thought of his father, he started his count.
One, agate. Two, alexandrite. Three, aquamarine. Four, chrysocolla. Five, chrysoprase
.

Pausing, he smoothed his fingertips across the next one in the box. The side facing him was the color of milk mixed with water, rough and cloudy like white alum. Traces of kimberlite still clung to the edges.

He lifted the stone from the velvet lining and turned the smooth side to the dusty sunbeam. The hidden sparkle inside blinked up at him, and the words from the big book in the library trailed across his mind.
Gemstone. Mineral species. Crystallized carbon. Hardest known naturally occurring mineral
.

With a contented sigh, he returned it to its place, climbed down, and shoved the collection box into the deep shadows under the bed.

P
earson held the door of the Ginocchio Hotel for Theo then followed him onto the wide porch, the drum of their heels on the cedar planks loud in the morning air.

After seeing the women off to Whitfield Manor the day before, they’d booked a room in the hotel. Pearson had looked forward to a restful evening after traveling three hundred miles, but he’d spent a fitful night instead.

The cheerful clerk at the desk said they’d find supplies and information about Caddo Lake at a nearby store, so they’d set out early to find the place.

Yawning, Pearson gazed around with bleary eyes. “Which way,
paisan
?”

Theo shook his head. “You navigate the Gulf of Mexico in the dead of night but can’t follow simple directions?”

Pearson chuckled and gazed overhead. “There are no stars to chart my course.”

Theo’s brows drew together. “The only stars are in your eyes. You’re distracted by the pretty
bambolina
we met yesterday, aren’t you? Your big feet haven’t touched the ground since Miss Addie McRae wrestled you for her bags.” He nudged Pearson with his elbow. “A fight she nearly won, I might add.”

Pearson slanted his eyes at his irksome friend. “Which way, Theo?”

His cheeks round with glee, Theo pointed. “Dead ahead, Christopher Columbus. Washington Street to the town square.” He cut his gaze to Pearson. “She was mighty pretty, though.”

Catching him by the collar, Pearson herded him down the steps. He wouldn’t admit it, but Theo was on the mark. Miss McRae and her dainty face had stolen precious hours of his sleep.

“Sure is a mighty fine day.” Long-legged Theo strolled beside him at a leisurely pace, as if he hadn’t a single care—or a sunken ship to raise.

“It is indeed,” Pearson agreed, gazing at mounded white clouds suspended in a blue sky. “I’m ready to come out of this jacket.”

Varied shops lined the boardwalk, and fine carriages transporting dapper men and spruced-up ladies filled the streets. The women wore tall, feathered hats and colorful wraps. Their escorts sported brushed derbies, turned-down collars, and canes.

A well-heeled couple approached from the opposite direction. The gentleman hurriedly switched sides with his lady, placing himself between her and Pearson. Lifting their noses, they offered a wide berth.

Pearson tipped his hat, giving them a devilish grin, and then nudged Theo. “Looks like we failed inspection.”

Theo swatted his back. “This isn’t the island,
paisano
. We stick out like knots on a whittling stick.”

“Did you see all the finery they were trussed up in? It’s not Sunday, is it?”

“Today’s Wednesday, but I think every day’s Sunday here. We’d best hurry and find our way to the swamp where we belong.”

A few blocks from the hotel, Theo slowed his steps and whistled. “Would you take a look at that?”

Pearson glanced over his shoulder, expecting to see another pretty girl. Instead, the oddest contraption he’d ever seen raced along the street, darting easily between mounted horsemen and dodging rigs. It resembled a fancy wagon, complete with four wheels and a buggy top but missing a pony. Mouth agape, Pearson stared until it bounced around a turn and disappeared from sight.

Theo wagged his head. “Brother, that was something to see.”

“A horseless carriage they’re called. All the rage up North.”

“Maybe, but I wouldn’t trade in my horse for one. I can’t see them ever taking hold in the South.”

Pearson sniffed and shook his head. “I’m sure you’re right. Still … itwould be grand to drive one.” Nudging Theo’s shoulder, he jutted his chin at the building across the street. “We’ve arrived, my friend. There’s the store we’re looking for.”

They crossed the rutted road, Theo reading aloud the large, painted letters on the sign. “J. W
EISMAN
& C
OMPANY—THE
F
IRST
D
EPARTMENT
S
TORE IN
T
EXAS
. What do you reckon a department store has for sale?”

Pulling a slip of paper from his pocket, Pearson grinned. “Hopefully, some of the items on our list.” Theo reached for the doorknob, but Pearson brushed aside his hand. “I’ll go first, thank you. And let me do the talking.”

Theo scowled. “Why?”

“Don’t you remember that time in Amarillo?”

A sheepish look crossed his face. “You’re right. You’d better do the talking.”

Leaving the pleasing warmth of the early spring sunshine, they strolled beneath the bell jingling over the door. The morning chill lingered inside the store, so Pearson pulled his jacket tighter, thankful he’d left it on.

The cavernous shop was like nothing he’d ever seen before. Equal parts general store, hardware store, and clothing boutique, there seemed to be something for everyone. Potent odors wafted from the four corners—familiar smells such as tobacco, spices, and soap. One wall held the usual items sold in a general store—straight razors, shaving cups, eyeglasses, hairbrushes, and looking glasses. Another offered churns, coffee mills, iron kettles, dishware, and silver utensils. Behind the glass counter, folded neatly in stacks, were woolen socks, handkerchiefs, wallets, cravats, and suspenders. In a corner along the back wall sat a brightly colored display of fabrics, buttons, and ribbons. Along the upstairs rail were racks of hats, high-top boots, ladies’ shawls, and fancy dresses.

Even toys for children
, Pearson thought, dodging the handle of a wagon with brightly painted slats for sides.

A stately gentleman with a heavily waxed mustache approached the counter. “Help you fellows?”

Pearson took off his hat. “Yes, sir. We’re in need of a few supplies.”

The proprietor swept his arm to take in the room. “I’m sure we can accommodate.”

Pearson grinned. “I’m inclined to agree.”

Looking eager to please, the man pulled out a pad and the stub of a pencil. “What can I get for you?”

Holding the list beneath a dusty beam, Pearson started from the top. “We’ll need a healthy coil of rope, a couple of lanterns, coal oil”—he pointed to a high shelf over the man’s head—”three or four of those oilcloths.” He scanned the room. “You don’t carry lumber by any chance?”

The clerk bobbed his head proudly. “Sure do. Stacked out back in the shed.”

Properly impressed, Pearson nodded. “Well, that’s fine. We’ll need enough to build a platform over the water.” Tapping his chin, he gazed around the room. “I suppose that’s all for now. Later we’ll need a couple of rowboats, oars, and a sturdy lift rig, if you have one.”

The man pointed to a storage bin. “Like that Yale & Towne hoist and pulley over there?”

Pearson grinned. “Yes, sir. Exactly like that one. Now, if you can point me to a wagon for hire so we can haul all these goods, I’d be much obliged.”

The man stopped tallying their purchases and straightened. One hand on his hip, he gazed from Pearson to Theo, his eyes alight with mirth. “You’re headed out to Lake Caddo, am I right?”

Pearson shared a look with Theo.

Before they could answer, he chuckled. “I know what this is about. You boys are set to try your hand at the
Mittie.”

Theo squirmed, shuffling his feet like a schoolboy.

Pearson swallowed, taking his time to answer. “What makes you say so?”

Bending behind the counter, the clerk brought up a lantern in each hand and slid them toward Pearson. “You’re not the first to try it, believe me.” He cocked his head. “Say, where are you fellows from?”

“Down Galveston way,” Theo said, grabbing a bottle of oil and adding it to the items on the counter.

“You’re seamen, then?”

“Sometimes,” Pearson said, dodging his eyes.

“What makes a couple of young sea dogs think they can find the
Mittie Stephens
when experienced men have searched for thirty years?”

“Well, we—”

“Your mariner skills may help you dodge sharks but won’t do youa bit of good in a nest of cottonmouths.” He flashed a knowing wink. “Unlike the alligators you’ll meet in the swamp, you boys have bitten off a little more than you can chew.” Laughter shook his body. “You’ll wrestle a few gators, too, before you’ve earned your right to the
Mittie.”

Pearson leaned against the counter. “Well then … since you’re onto us, maybe you can tell us where to find Catfish John.”

The clerk stilled, his eyebrows lifted. “I see you’ve done your homework.”

“How about it?” Pearson pressed. “Can you tell us where he is?”

The man opened his mouth to speak, but the overhead bell jangled, dragging their attention to the door.

An elderly gent shuffled inside, pulling off his sweat-stained hat with gnarled fingers. He moved in the slow, measured gait of the aged, men with stiff joints and nothing but time on their hands. “Mornin’, folks.” Wincing, he patted the door. “Ought to prop this thing open, Sam. Warmer outside than it is in here.”

“That’s a good idea,” the clerk called. “Go on and brace it, then.” Lowering his voice, he nodded at Pearson. “Must be your lucky day. There’s the man you need to see.”

“Catfish John?”

He grinned. “Not
that
lucky. This here’s Mr. Robb, a plantation owner on the Caddo. If you ask him real nice-like, he just might tell you where John can be found.”

A
ddie stood at the full-length mirror adjusting the sash at her waist and marveling at the furnishings surrounding her. Her room in the big house Father built in Canton was grand, to say the least, but unimpressive compared to the opulence of Whitfield Manor.

She ran her fingertips along the gilded frame of the looking glass, touched the bronze bust of William Shakespeare on the desk. Every detail shouted wealth aplenty—with impeccable taste, of course. Yet for all the manor’s lavish comforts, Addie wouldn’t trade a home filled with little girls’ laughter for the heartache sleeping in the room next door.

How could one endure such pain and disappointment? How did Miss Whitfield manage Ceddy every day?

At the lady’s forceful suggestion, Addie slipped into his room after the meal to offer a plate of treacle tart and clotted cream. The experiment produced disastrous results, ending with the child cowering in the corner and Addie splattered with cream.

A tap on the door jolted her heart. She prayed it wasn’t Miss Whitfield with another plot to help Ceddy warm up to her. She wasn’t up to the task, and besides, she didn’t plan to stay. When her mother left on the afternoon train, Addie would be sitting beside her, shoulders slumped in defeat.

The door opened before she reached it, and Mother peered inside. “There you are,
sioshitek
. Look at you, already dressed. I feared my knock might awaken you.”

Alarm tightened Addie’s stomach. Mother seldom addressed her in Choctaw. When she did, dire news often followed. She watched her mother’s serene face carefully as she approached. “Oh my,” she said, one hand over her heart. “What’s wrong?”

Mother blinked at her. “Why, nothing, dear.”

Addie shook her head. “You don’t speak Grandmother’s language unless you’re troubled.”

She chuckled and pulled Addie close. “How clever of you to notice this about me.”

Drawing back, Addie tilted her head. “I’ve had years of practice.”

Caressing her hair, Mother offered a wobbly smile. “Actually, I am quite distressed, but I have every reason to be. I’m leaving here today, traveling three hundred miles away from my firstborn.”

Addie lowered her chin. “Well, cheer yourself, Mother, because I’m going with you.”

“No, darling.” Her knuckle curled beneath Addie’s chin and raised her head. “No, you’re not.”

Addie had expected stunned silence. A disappointed pause. Mother’s quick answer meant she anticipated the announcement. Pulling away, Addie busied herself at the mirror, adjusting her hair. “I’ve given it a lot of thought. I was up half the night, in fact. I regret putting everyone through all this trouble, but I’m absolutely certain it’s the right thing to do.”

“Addie …”

She spun. “I don’t belong here, Mother. I have no special training for this sort of thing. I’m not the right person for the job.”

“Nonsense. You’re exactly what that poor child needs.”

“You saw for yourself how difficult he is. I’m not sure if I … I don’t know if I’m—”

Mother lifted one hand to cut her off then crossed to sit on the bed, patting the spot beside her. “Come over here.”

Slouching like a disciplined child, Addie slunk to join her.

Mother caught her hands, wringing in her lap, and held them still. “I’ve watched you win the trust of innocent creatures in the past, from hurting children to feral cats. It’s your gift.”

“But don’t you see? That’s the problem. Ceddy Whitfield is both. He’s a wounded boy but wilder than any beast I’ve ever seen.”

“Not really. Unsettling behavior seems more extreme from a cherubic child.”

“If you offer food to a wild animal, it won’t shriek and sling it in your face.” She touched her still-damp curls. “I don’t think I could bear that happening again.”

Mother had the nerve to laugh. “A touch of clotted cream is good for the complexion, honey. Don’t underestimate yourself. You can bear more than you think.”