Texas Brides Collection (49 page)

“Really, James, you sound like Mrs. Booth.”

“Charlotte, Reuben and his brothers went bad. They tore all over the place, thieving and such. You remember that robbery at the mercantile, the one they pulled right before they disappeared with Benjamin?” James slowed the buggy. “Some people are bad news through and through. There’s no changing that. I’m a newspaper man. I deal in facts.”

“Facts change. People can, too.” Charlotte was wishing more and more she’d stayed in town and let Reuben drive her home instead.

Reuben signed his name at the bottom of the telegraph form. “That should do it. You’ll be sure to let me know if you hear back, right?”

“Check in with me next time you’re in town, Mr. Wilson.” The telegraph operator proofread Reuben’s form and accepted his fee. “It may take awhile—depending on the records and how busy the lawman is—before you hear anything.”

“I suppose I’ll keep waiting then.” Reuben put his hat back on. “Have a good day.”

He left the telegraph office and entered the brisk outdoors. Raider’s Crossing’s hubbub of busy citizens crisscrossed the street. Reuben headed down the boardwalk to the rooming house where his mother once lived.

Reuben touched the bankroll nestled in an inner pocket of his coat. It would have taken him too long to write a letter that made sense, so he figured he’d telegraph sheriffs for information about his brothers’ whereabouts. One of the first things he’d done was write to Sadie, but his letters had returned unopened.

Please, Lord, help me find my family. I need to stay here to get the land back, and I don’t know where to look for the others
.

Charlie and her persistent suitor had probably already left in his snug little buggy. He had seen her earlier across the street. She almost appeared as if she wanted to speak to him.

In fact, he’d borrowed Sam’s farm wagon with an ulterior motive in mind. Not just to take his mother’s and family’s effects with him, but maybe even take Charlie home. She’d stubbornly walked the two miles to town, claiming she wanted to get the mail and some fresh air. Probably ruined her pretty boots in the frozen, muddy wagon tracks.

A reluctant smile tugged at his lips as he entered the boardinghouse. The smell of fresh apple pie made his stomach growl.

Mrs. Beasley, the boardinghouse owner, met him by the staircase. “Mr. Wilson, good day. You’ve come for your mother’s things?”

“Yes, I have.” His throat tightened. “I won’t be long.”

“No worries. Take as long as you like. Here’s the key.” She handed him the cold piece of metal.

Reuben went to what had been his mother’s room, where she’d lived the past five years or so. As soon as he opened the door, he smelled the rosewater she used to wear.

The patchwork quilt on the bed was neatly tucked under a pillow. A brush and hand mirror lay near the bowl and pitcher on the washstand, as if waiting for his mother to return. He moved to the small wardrobe and opened a door to find several dresses, worn yet well cared for.

Maybe Charlie or her mother would like them. He removed the dresses from the wardrobe and placed them on the bed. The bureau contained a few ladies’ undergarments. It was odd removing those; perhaps he would throw them away.

Reuben’s throat swelled, and he dashed away the tears. He needed to finish this job fast before he set to bawling. The trunk at the foot of the bed came open easily, its lock broken. Reuben stuffed the dresses, the brush, and the mirror inside. He glanced around the plain yet tidy room. Nothing else was left for him to do except gather the contents of his family legacy into the trunk and head for the Jeffers farm. Having a family around him might help him squirrel through this box to see what to keep and what to give away. Reuben corrected himself. Having Charlie next to him would help.

He could force himself to wait for the right time.

Charlotte’s eyes burned. Even by the window in the front room the afternoon light didn’t help illuminate her mending very much. But the chore was a welcome diversion that had sent James on his way. He’d unsettled her with his advance in the buggy. Before they parted, he promised he’d never make such an assumption again. Still, she didn’t like the way he spoke of Reuben.

The front door opened. Charlotte didn’t bother to look up when a familiar clomp of boots entered the room. They crossed the room and stopped near her.

“Could you help me, please?” Reuben stood before Charlotte, carrying a wooden trunk. “That is, if it’s not much trouble.”

“Help you?” He seemed to have no difficulty carrying the trunk.

“These are…were…my ma’s things.” His gaze dropped from her face to what he held. “Some things I want to keep, but I…I found a few things you might like.”

Charlotte swallowed hard. She couldn’t imagine having to complete such a task, didn’t even want to think of it. To do so alone, with years of regret piled high…

“Of course I’ll help.” Her gentle tone surprised her. “Set the trunk beside the stove, and I’ll put the kettle on for tea. It’s cold outside.”

“Thank you.” Reuben deposited the trunk on the rag rug and sat on the chair across from Charlotte’s.

She went to the much warmer kitchen and stoked the fire in the cookstove to a snappy blaze, then filled the kettle with water from the sink pump. Reuben’s mere presence and humble request made her head reel, much more than James did.

Reuben needed a friend. Any romantic entanglements would only complicate matters further. Besides, Charlotte couldn’t be sure that he wouldn’t run again. She returned to the sitting room where Reuben knelt before the open trunk.

She found a spot on the rug next to him and lifted a simple gown and matching shirtwaist from the trunk. “What do you want to do with the dresses?”

Their gazes locked. In the harsh afternoon light, the scar on Reuben’s face seemed deeper than usual. Instead of the sadness she’d seen since their reunion, she glimpsed a spark of hope in Reuben’s eyes.

“You can have them. I mean, you and your ma might find them useful.” Reuben turned his attention to the trunk’s contents.

Charlotte folded the clothing and set it to the side. In the next layer of trunk items she found a rather large packet of brown paper tied with twine. “What’s this?”

“Open it.”

She untied the packet and unfolded the paper. A gown of soft silk, more than thirty years out of style, tumbled onto her lap. “Oh, it must be your ma’s wedding gown.”

“You can keep it if you want to. I know it’s not the style ladies wear now, but maybe you can make something else from it. I don’t know, but the fabric looks fine.” Reuben rubbed his forehead and opened another paper packet, this one containing several daguerreotypes.

“Your ma and pa. And”—Charlotte smiled—“you and your brothers. So long ago…” Her eyes smarted as she wondered what had happened to the other Wilson boys.

“We were still in knickers.” Reuben smiled, and Charlotte wished she could see that expression on his face more often. “I think I was all of fourteen. Benjamin was a baby.”

His voice cut short, and Charlotte heard the sorrow in his tone. “Where are they, Reuben?”

“I don’t know. I’ve written to—to the place where we left Benjamin. Never heard anything.” Reuben put the daguerreo-types back into the packet and retied the string. “We were stupid, thinking we’d never get caught or that no one had wised up to what we were doing. And Benjamin? Benjamin thought we were having fun adventures without him.”

Reuben settled to a seated position on the rug, and Charlotte forced herself to be quiet long enough for him to continue.

“He followed us, the little coot.” Reuben shook his head. “We didn’t know until it was too late. And we didn’t want to risk leading a trail home to Ma.”

“So you split up.”

“Yeah. It wasn’t supposed to be for long. Then months turned into years somehow.” Reuben held up a pocket watch and let it spin on its chain. “Time moved fast.”

Charlotte’s heart surged with compassion. She couldn’t imagine being alone in the world and knowing that somewhere out there she had kin. She placed her hand on Reuben’s arm. “I want to help you. I’ll write letters, do whatever we can to find them.”

He covered her hand with one of his. “Thank you, Charlie. That means a lot to me.”

“We’re old friends. I suppose that hasn’t changed.”

Reuben picked up her right hand and turned it so the palm faced upward. He moved the cuff of her dress up a few inches, exposing her forearm. The simple action made her face burn. “Do you remember?”

“I never forgot.” Charlotte wanted to weep out the sorrow of the lost years between them.
Lord, we can’t go back
.

She stared at the faint scar from long ago when she and the Wilson brothers pledged to be blood kin to the bitter end. Back then she had no idea what that would mean. And now she had no idea if her heart was up to the challenge.

T
he wind sliced through Reuben’s thin and threadbare coat as he walked along the boardwalk in Raider’s Crossing early Saturday evening. His stomach ached after enjoying an early supper in town. He’d bought a new horse, too. While in town he’d met a few more people, and the name Wilson meant little to them—other than wasn’t that the older woman who had passed on sometime back? Then when they found out it was his ma, their tone changed. No questions asked, either. He supposed not everyone knew of his prodigal state.

Reuben shivered and turned down the side street to the livery. He paused once out of the wind. A warmer coat would be nice. Reverend Mann, though, had said he ought not to spend money on frivolous things like a new coat, not after how he’d squandered money in the past. To atone for this sin, Reuben waited awhile longer. He wondered when God would think it was long enough. Maybe he’d ask Reverend Toms. Reuben had no Bible, but he sure paid attention to the preaching, and Reverend Toms seemed to know the Book well.

A voice drifted down the side street and into Reuben’s ears.

“Yessir, that pretty little Charlotte Jeffers comes with a fine package if I marry her.”

Reuben curled his hands into fists at the sight of the dapper young man talking and laughing with other spit ’n’ polished lads.

“You know her pa’s going to throw in that old Wilson parcel.”

His friend chuckled. “I tried to come courtin’ once, but she’s as cold as Raider’s Pond in December.”

Charlie’s suitor clapped his friend on the back, and the men paused at the end of the alley with their backs to him.

“Well, my friend, the ice is beginning to thaw. I’m sure of it. If I have my way, she’ll be begging her daddy to let her marry me. You know she’s three years older than me?”

“She don’t look long in the tooth.”

The suitor—James, was it?—strutted like a rooster. “Nor the rest of her, either. People will pay good money for that land, and they’re going to be paying it to me once it’s mine.”

Reuben turned and walked to the livery before he punched a wall or, worse, planted a fist into James’s face. The man had practically sold Charlotte’s dowry before he’d even married her. James had no knowledge of how to treat a lady, either.

Reuben had a right to buy that land, intended dowry or no. Soon he could make Sam Jeffers an offer. And wouldn’t that throw a kink in James’s spokes? He grinned at the thought.