A Place Called Harmony (12 page)

Clint listened to Patrick. The kid knew what he was doing. They had less than two months to build before spring planting. Soon, a town would need streets marked off. A hotel for folks to stay over. A café. A church. A school. Once the buildings started to go up, there would be people who’d either buy them or rent them from Ely. Either way, the money would pay for more buildings. In two years either Ely’s grand plan would be a bust, or Ely would be a rich man. Either way, Clint figured he’d have a house and forty acres to call his own.

He slid his hand along the money belt he still wore. At the end of two years maybe he’d buy more land or maybe he’d move on, but either way, he’d have enough to start over again if need be.

Ely passed through the kitchen for another cup of coffee. He stopped at the door and said simply, “Build your places as soon as you can. I don’t know if I can stand all you hanging around once the weather warms.”

Patrick pulled out another piece of paper he’d had rolled in his his pants pocket. “I drew up some simple houses we can put up within a few weeks each. They’ll be small and plain. All will be made so we can build on. I figure we might as well start with two stories for the Matheson clan, but Truman, yours and mine can start off as little more than cabins. As we move along with the town and begin to hire men on to work, we’ll move a team over to add the extra rooms on.”

Ely nodded. “Then pick your land, men. The houses will sit on my land for two years, and then, if you stay, I’ll deed the forty acres you pick out over to you. Any of you think you’ll want a house in the new town? I could make a bargain . . .”

All said no at once.

Ely passed through the door without another word.

Patrick stood. “I’m thinking we start with what needs doing here first. We’ve got lumber, but no stoves or sinks or a dozen little things that will make the house more than a shack. They’ll have to be ordered and driven up from the nearest train station, so we’re stuck here together until they come in. A forge between the store and the barn would probably be useful to us and travelers. With all of us eating, I could put up a smokehouse in four days. We’d have time to mark off streets later. With the creeks crossing through this place it won’t be easy, but we can start with a town square once we’re settled. Ely may be dreaming, but he claims if we build a courthouse, he might get the county seat. That and a post office and we’d be on the map.”

Suddenly everyone was talking at once. Everyone except Karrisa. She sat silent beside Clint.

He reached his hand beneath the table and closed his fingers around hers. “You all right with this?” he said in his best effort to whisper.

She nodded as she held his hand tightly for only a moment before she let go. Instead of pulling away, she leaned forward and whispered, “When you pick your forty acres, make sure it has water for my trees.”

Clint nodded. “I haven’t forgotten, dear. Apple trees. As many as you want to plant.”

He and Patrick stood and went to take inventory of all supplies. Clint didn’t want to leave her alone with strangers, but he had to. With luck, these women would become her friends.

When he was alone with Patrick, they walked off where to build the forge and the smokehouse and then inventoried supplies. Plenty of wood, not near enough nails. Ely seemed to think all they’d need to build was wood. He didn’t stock stoves, doorknobs, hinges, or glass for windows.

“We can use river rocks to build the chimneys, but some supplies will have to be ordered in.” Patrick sat down in the shadowy barn and started a list of all they’d need. “I wish my brother were here,” he said for the third time. “He’s the one with all the brains.”

Patrick had been talking for an hour, so Clint asked, “Let me guess, he’s the quiet one?”

The kid’s head shot up. “He doesn’t speak. He can hear, but something happened with his voice. He’s not dumb, though; he’s smarter than me.”

“I’ve no doubt.” Clint didn’t even know the brother, but he didn’t want to argue. “So you’ve done the talking for both of you all your life?”

Patrick shrugged and went back to work. “Yeah, I pretty much talked all day and he listened. Annie’s noticed that too. If I didn’t have her, I’d miss Shelly something terrible. You’d like him, Truman. He’s one person who talks less than you.”

“I’m sure I would.” Truman answered. “I feel like I know him already. Let me guess, he’s older, right? But, of course he looks a lot like you. Maybe an inch or two shorter than you. Maybe not quite as thin. Only his eyes are gray, not green, and his hair a few shades darker brown.”

“Unbelievable, Truman, you described him exactly. What are you, one of those mind readers?”

“No,” Truman answered. “But I’ve always had good eyesight.”

Clint couldn’t stop smiling as Patrick turned around and looked at his brother standing behind him. The McAllens hugged, taking turns lifting each other off the ground, and then Patrick started asking questions.

Shelly pulled a note from his pocket and handed it to his brother as if already guessing what he’d ask.

Patrick took a minute to read the note and glance up at Truman. “He says it wasn’t any fun without me in Galveston, so after a week he saddled up and rode out. He made faster time because he didn’t bother to stop and visit. He writes that he passed a few places where he saw my work along the way.”

Truman wasn’t surprised. “I like your brother already. How about we go to work? Old Ely might not make him the same deal he did the three of us, but I’ll bet he’ll hire Shelly on until the captain gets on his feet.”

Patrick explained the layout of the forge to Shelly, and Clint wasn’t surprised when the silent McAllen took out his pencil and began making improvements. It seemed Patrick did all the talking even when the brothers argued over changes. Only, strange as it might sound, it was usually Shelly’s suggestions that were used.

By noon, Clint decided to skip lunch and seek the silence of the upstairs bedroom. On a good day, he’d never been all that interested in construction, and with Patrick talking nonstop to his brother, Clint didn’t consider this a good day.

He wasn’t surprised to find that his wife was also in their room. Every day since they’d married, he’d insisted she rest at midday. It was helping. She had more energy and wasn’t quite as pale as she’d been those first few days out of prison.

He tossed his hat on the chair and stretched out beside her on the bed. When she opened one eye, he said, “Do me a favor and don’t say a word.”

Karrisa didn’t even move. The baby was asleep in the basket, making little sounds babies make in their sleep. For the first time all morning there was peace and Clint simply wanted to drink it in like fine whiskey.

He took stock of his surroundings. The baby had woken him twice last night. Harmon Ely, down the hall, snored until almost dawn, and the young couple next to him must be part squirrel from all the moving-around noises coming from their room. Downstairs four little boys were yelling or crying or banging by first light.

On the bright side, he had a job and a hint of a future to plan for. His wife was letting him lie in bed without screaming, which was nearer to normal than they’d been since the wedding. Despite Patrick’s talking and Shelly’s silence, he liked both the McAllen brothers. He was stone-cold sober and for the first time in years he’d laughed.

Clint was afraid to ask if his wife was happy, so finally he simply said, “Do you feel safe here, dear?”

“Yes, Truman,” she answered as she patted his shoulder.

T
RADING
P
OST

With Annie cooking breakfast and Karrisa cleaning up, Daisy had time to take care of her husband. The morning after he arrived, while the boys played on the roped-in porch, she washed Gillian and bandaged his head wound with clean strips of cotton. It looked much better and not near as red, but she knew there would always be a scar along his forehead. There were other scars he’d collected in the months they’d been apart. The year had not been easy on him either.

She couldn’t stop staring at Gillian, touching him. How could she have allowed over a year to pass without being with him? Her family had told her that if she’d hold strong about not leaving the farm, eventually he’d wise up and come home. In his letters he’d talked about places they could live, but he’d never mentioned Kansas or the little home in sight of her parents’ house as being one of them.

Gillian Matheson was a man she didn’t understand, but she couldn’t love him less for it. If he didn’t like this plan she’d come up with of meeting halfway to build a town, they’d think of another way. She wanted his sons to know their father. She wanted to sleep beside him every night until they grew old. She wanted
him
.

Tears rolled down her cheeks unchecked. She’d wasted five years waiting. That was over. No matter what they did from now on, she would be by his side. He was a man of honor and duty. He’d never promised he’d stay with her in Kansas; in fact, she could still remember the hurt and surprise in his eyes when she’d told him she wouldn’t follow him from fort to fort. The first time, she’d used the excuse that she was going to have a baby. A year later, she’d used the same excuse. When he’d left over a year ago, he hadn’t known about the third pregnancy, and she hadn’t told him. Gillian had no idea he was the father of four sons, not just two. She’d thought to surprise him, but in his weakened state the shock of twins might kill him. Only there would be no hiding the children once he woke.

When she looked up at his bandage, steel blue eyes peeked from beneath the white cotton.

“Daisy? Are you here or am I just dreaming about you again?”

“I’m here, Gillian.”

“Good.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Mind telling me where
here
is? Last thing I remember was hitting the ground so hard lightning split through my mind.”

“Did you get my letter?”

He slowly nodded, then groaned. “You were in danger. I was riding hard to get to you. Thought you, or one of the boys, might be dying.”

“No, Gillian, I’m fine and so are the boys. The lightning you felt was a bullet flying along your skull. After you were shot, you made it to us thanks to Jessie. We’re all here at Harmon Ely’s trading post.”

“I’ve been to that place a few times. It’s in the middle of nowhere.” He lifted two fingers and caught the tail of her long blond braid.

“You’re here now. You’re with us.” She cupped his chin with her palm. “You came to me, and I came to Texas to be with you.”

His eyes were closed for so long she thought he might have gone back to sleep, yet his fingers still held tight to her hair. Finally, he whispered, “I want to be a real husband, Daisy. I got two boys who need a father. I want to be more than a man who rides in for a few weeks once a year.”

She couldn’t stop crying. He was saying the very words she’d wanted to hear for years. “You’ve been a good soldier on the frontier for years, Gillian. You’ve made your father proud. Now it’s time for you to try something new. Something that will let you come home every night to your sons and to me.”

He took a deep breath as if relaxing for the first time in years and drifted back to sleep.

Resting her cheek on his chest, she listened to his heartbeat, remembering when they first fell in love. He’d told her that the beat of his heart and hers were in time with each other and neither one would ever be happy unless they were close enough to hear the other’s heart.

Daisy slowly straightened and smiled. He’d been right. It took both of them five long years, but they’d come to the same conclusion. They belonged together.

A light tapping sounded against the door. Daisy looked up, feeling ready to face anything since she’d finally talked to Gillian.

Jessie, the girl who’d brought her husband to her, stood at the door holding a ball of yarn and a crochet hook. She seemed afraid to come into the bedroom.

“It’s all right, Jessie, he’s asleep.” Daisy waved her in.

The girl moved closer as if needing to see for herself that the captain was alive. When she reached Daisy’s side, she whispered, “Mrs. Truman taught me how to crochet. She said I needed to practice with this yarn. If you want, I could sit with the captain and practice. If he wakes, I’ll run and get you.”

“That sounds fine. I need to check on the boys. Maybe I’ll take them out back and let them chase chickens for a while. If they catch one, we’ll have chicken pot pie for supper.”

Jessie smiled at her. “The captain’s better, ain’t he?”

“Yes, he is. He even talked to me a little. He’s going to be all right, you know.”

“Yes, ma’am. I sure do hope so.”

As Jessie began to play with the yarn, Daisy moved to the midday warmth of the kitchen. She couldn’t stop smiling. This place, this time might be their only chance left.

There seemed far too many questions and far too few answers, but one thing she knew. Gillian still loved her; she saw it in his eyes. And, for Daisy, that was all that mattered.