The Yellow Rose (18 page)

A fairly good band with guitars, banjos, two fiddlers, and the usual blowers into jugs filled the schoolhouse with lively music.

Leonard Pennington was wearing a new gray suit that fit him perfectly. His low-cut shoes were black and made from patent leather, and a dark brown tie matched the color of his eyes. He was an attractive man, and as Moriah moved around the floor with him, she said, “This is fun, Leonard.”

“Well, it’s fine, but wait’ll we get to St. Louis.” He smiled, and his white teeth were perfect. His eyes crinkled when he smiled, and he said, “We’ll be dancing at the Rose Ballroom. You could put ten of these places inside of it! You’re going to like it in a real city.”

As they moved around the floor, Len leaned close and told Moriah how pretty she looked and how well she danced. He was quick to compliment her throughout the dance and felt there was nothing unmanly about it. He was a city man with none of the roughness of most of the men that inhabited Texas. He was quietly witty and courteous and was ambitious almost to a fault.

Looking around the floor, Len said, “It looks like the saints and the sinners are all one tonight. Even the dance hall girls have joined in.”

Suddenly, Len missed a step when he saw the hurt look on Moriah’s face. “What is it?”

“Well, that’s Julie, my aunt.”

“Why, I didn’t mean to say anything—”

Len halted and tried to make it right, but he saw that he had wandered into an unmentionable territory. It bothered him that Moriah had an aunt who was a dance hall girl, and he rarely spoke of her, though he was polite enough on the few occasions when they met. He changed the subject quickly. “Everybody’s wondering if your mother’s going to marry Kern Herendeen.”

“I don’t think she knows. She likes Clay awfully well.”

“Why, I like Clay, too,” Len said quickly, “but he’s got no ambition.

Kern will be in the legislature someday. He’s a man with vision who’s going to make a difference here in Texas.”

“I don’t think Ma judges a man by his politics. There are other things more important.”

“Well, of course you’re right. Speaking of marriage, I promised I wouldn’t urge you too much, but I’d like for you to set a date, Moriah.”

Moriah did not answer right away, and he leaned back and looked into her face. “What’s wrong? We’re made for each other.”

Moriah could not put into words what she was feeling, but finally she said, “I’m not sure I can please you, Leonard. It will be so different for me living in a big city.”

“Why, you’ll do fine. I’ll help you. You’ll see.” He suddenly lifted his head and said, “Well, there’s Clay. I hope he and Kern behave themselves.”

Clay had not worn new clothes, although he looked better than he had in the travel-stained ones he had been wearing when he came back from New Orleans. He stood there for a moment, then heard his name called. He turned to see Julie and Frisco Barr approach him.

“How’s my darlin’ husband tonight?” Julie winked. She loved to tease Clay about the fact that they had pretended to be man and wife simply in order to get the land for Jerusalem and the family. Julie had been willing to marry him legally, but Clay had drawn the line at that, so she had suggested they just
say
they were married, which satisfied Steve Austin. It was not exactly honest, but neither of them was troubled about it too much. They were more interested in finding a place where Jerusalem and the family could sink down roots and get established.

“You ought not to call me that,” Clay said. “It gives people the wrong ideas.”

Sheriff Joel Bench was standing beside them. He was a tough, little man in his early fifties with white hair and startling blue eyes. “Miss Julie, I think this is our dance, ain’t it?”

“Why, I think it is, Sheriff.” Julie smiled, took his hand, and went out to the dance floor with him.

Frisco Barr was dressed, as usual, in the latest fashion. As a gambler, he could afford to be flamboyant, and Clay stared at his vest and said, “I ain’t sure a man that wears a vest that colorful is to be trusted.”

“Probably not,” Frisco grinned, “but anybody with a few dollars can buy a vest like this. How’s the cattle business, Clay?” The two men talked for a while about the difficulty of running cattle in Texas, and then humor gleamed in Frisco’s dark eyes. “Who’s runnin’ ahead with the widow Hardin?”

“Don’t you start on me, Frisco,” Clay said, putting a hard glance on the gambler.

“All right, I won’t.” The two men stood there, and finally Frisco said, “Miss Moriah’s doin’ right well. Pennington’s gonna go up in the world.”

“I guess he is,” Clay murmured, but his eyes were on Jerusalem. He straightened up and said, “Guess I’ll go have myself a dance.”

Frisco lifted his eyebrows. “Kern don’t take too well to bein’ cut in on—in any way. Watch yourself, Clay.”

Clay paid no heed but moved right over to where Jerusalem and Herendeen were dancing. He tapped Herendeen on the shoulder, and when Herendeen stopped to turn, he said, “Mind if I cut in, Kern?”

Kern Herendeen was a bigger man than Clay. He was taller and bulkier, and had an aggressiveness about him that flared out at times.

“Wait until the next dance, Taliferro,” he said.

Kern started to turn, but Clay said, “You know the custom is that gentlemen step aside to give other gents a chance.” Kern started to pull away, but Clay put a hand on his arm. “Let’s do this easy, Kern.”

Kern Herendeen’s anger suddenly flared. “Get your hands off me!”

“I don’t like your manners much, Kern.”

“I don’t like yours either.”

Jerusalem stood there watching and wanting to separate the two, but it was moving too fast. “If you don’t like my ways, Kern, take it up.”

“I’ll take it up,” Kern said, his mouth tightening. “Let’s just go outside.”

“Stop this!” Jerusalem said. “Behave yourselves, both of you.”

“I just wanted to dance with you, Jerusalem. Is that too much to ask?”

“Wait your turn,” Kern said and grinned.

Jerusalem had no chance to say anything else. She had been about to say, “Clay, you can have the next dance.” But Herendeen swept her away, moving to the other side of the dance floor.

For one instant the wildness that Clay Taliferro tried to keep down way beneath the surface of his manners erupted. An almost irresistible urge to go after Kern, turn him around, and strike him in the face overwhelmed him. He forced himself to take a deep breath, then he turned and walked toward the door. He passed by Julie, who spoke to him, saying, “Clay—”

But he ignored her and left the room.

“He’s pretty sore,” Frisco said, who had come to stand by Julie. “I’m surprised he didn’t call Kern out.”

“I know him,” Julie said. “He’ll go away and think about it, and when he gets mad enough, he will take it up again. I hate to see it.”

Barr turned and studied Julie, who was looking toward the door that Clay had passed through. “You think pretty highly of Clay, don’t you?”

Julie turned and faced Frisco squarely. She said in a level tone, “He’s the only man I ever met I’d trust with anything—at any time.”

The words seemed to strike Frisco with some force. He chewed his lower lip and then shrugged. “It makes me feel small to hear you say that.”

“You’ll live. Let’s get something to drink.”

Kern pulled the horses in front of the house, then turned to face Jerusalem. It was past midnight, but the dance had gone on for a long time. Several times Jerusalem had urged Kern to take her home, but he had protested that there were few dances for them to enjoy. Finally, she had said bluntly, “I’ve got to go, Kern, with you or without you.”

He had at once said, “Why, sure, I should have taken you earlier.”

The moon was merely a silver crescent in the sky, but the stars shone bright, like diamonds scattered across dark velvet. Jerusalem started to get out, but Kern caught her arm and held her. “I’m sorry about that run-in with Clay,” he said.

“It embarrassed me, Kern. I felt like a bone that two dogs were fighting over.”

Kern was clearly shocked at her choice of words. “I didn’t want it to be like that,” he said hurriedly. “But look, if you’d marry me, Jerusalem, there wouldn’t be any more of that.”

Though she had enjoyed the dance at first, she’d seen another side of Kern when Clay had tried to cut in on them. Kern’s spark of anger forced her to make a decision. The dance had begun well, but it had ended badly, and Jerusalem wanted to put an end to their relationship. She turned to him and spoke directly, “Kern, you’re a strong man, and I admire strong men—but I can’t marry you. I should have told you this weeks ago.”

Kern Herendeen was not accustomed to having to beg for anything.

He had tried to court other women in his life, but he saw in Jerusalem Hardin a certain strength, which he admired, for he possessed the same quality. She was still an attractive woman, too, young enough to bear a son, which he longed for with all of his soul. He held her arm trying to persuade her, and when she remained adamant, he said roughly, “It’s Taliferro, isn’t it?”

“That’s my business, Kern.”

“No, it’s not just yours. It’s mine, too.”

“Plenty of women would jump at the chance to marry you. Find yourself a wife who has no doubts.” She pulled away from his grasp and stepped out. She looked at him and said, “Let’s not let this turn into something ugly, Kern. We’re going to be neighbors. I can’t marry you. I wouldn’t make you happy if I did.”

“I’m not taking that as final, Jerusalem.”

“Don’t be foolish, Kern,” Jerusalem said sharply. “Put me out of your mind. I know your pride hurts, but let that be all that comes of this. Stay away from Clay.” She turned and walked into the house, and Herendeen stared after her. Suddenly, he raised the whip and struck the horse, which cried out with a scream, and then drove off at a furious rate.

Jerusalem heard the cry of the horse and knew that Kern Herendeen was not a man who was able to drop things easily. He wanted to hold things, and once he had them, he wouldn’t let them go. That was the reason she wouldn’t marry him. Jake had not held her at all, but she knew it’d be just as bad for a man who wanted to possess her wholly.

Stepping inside the house, she started toward her room and then suddenly halted abruptly. Clay was sitting at the table watching her. “You’re still up,” she said.

“Still up.” He got up and walked over to stand before her.

He had something in his hand, but she could not make out what it was.

He said nothing, but Jerusalem knew he had been hurt. “I didn’t mean to put you down, Clay.” She wanted to say more, and finally she found the words to express what was in her heart. “No man in this world has ever treated me better than you. Certainly not Jake. I want you to know that every day I thank God for how you’ve helped me and my family.”

Clay looked down at the object in his hand, then held it up. Jerusalem saw that it was something oblong, wrapped in a piece of newspaper.

Clay hesitated, then said quietly, “I guess I don’t know the right words to say to a woman like you. I wish I was a little bit better with them, but I love you better than life, Jerusalem.” He removed the paper and handed Jerusalem a perfectly shaped rose of a striking yellow color.

“I saw this rose, Jerusalem, and it made me think of you for some reason.

So beautiful—” He broke off and could not seem to find the words to finish.

For all his toughness, at that moment Clay seemed to Jerusalem to have a gentle spirit, and a tender love filled her heart for him. Taking the rose, Jerusalem held it in her hand. When she looked up, she saw the depth of his love for her in his eyes, and it stirred her. “Thank you, Clay.

It was thoughtful of you to bring it to me—and I’m glad you see something of it in me.”

Clay did not move. He was so still that Jerusalem wondered what he was thinking. His eyes were fixed on her, and she wanted him to break the silence.

Finally, he said, “I’m through chasing you, Jerusalem. If you want me, I’ll be true to you until the day I die. If you choose Kern, I’ll always be a friend to you and to your children and to your grandchildren. You’ll always be able to count on me.”

He turned and walked away rapidly, his steps echoing on the wooden floor. He ascended the stairway, and Jerusalem stood there. Clay’s open expression of love shocked her, and she felt tears gather in her eyes. She held the rose and savored the delicate fragrance, then touched it with her lips. At that moment she wanted to weep and had to struggle to keep the sobs back. She could not tell why Clay’s simple gesture had touched her, but she knew that something had happened this night that had changed everything.

CHAPTER
FIFTEEN

C
lay and Zane did not urge their horses along but loitered behind the twenty head of bellowing longhorns that raised a cloud of fine dust in front of them. They had strayed over to the east, and the two men had searched for them during the early morning hours and now were headed back with them toward the main herd.

Clay had been silent for most of the day, and Zane finally asked, “What’s the matter with you, Clay? You ain’t talked as much as a rock for days now.”

“Guess I just don’t have much to say, Zane.”

Zane grinned. He did not speak for a while but lounged in his saddle, then said, “A man in love is a peculiar creature. He will do mighty strange things.”

Clay shot him an irritated glance and said, “I hope you get it so bad some day you can’t walk straight, Zane.”

“Not likely. A man that’s escaped marriage for thirty-eight years has got a good chance of makin’ it all the way through without all the aggravation of married life.”

Clay did not answer, for he suddenly straightened in the saddle.

“Look over there,” he said abruptly. He lifted his hand and pointed to a slight cloud of dust.

Zane followed his gesture and said, “Can you make out what they are?”

“Well, they ain’t Comanches. They’re ridin’ too slow for that.”

The two men kept their eyes on the approaching horsemen, and Clay said, “I can’t quite make ’em out. They don’t have any cattle, but I don’t know what they’re doing here.” He pulled his horse up, and Zane followed, ignoring the longhorns. As the horsemen approached, Clay murmured quietly, “They look like they’re about done in.”