Texas Brides Collection (66 page)

Caleb tipped his hat and followed his hostess inside. The dining room was sparse but tidy with a long table down the middle and benches running along each side. He estimated that during mealtime the place could easily seat two dozen hungry folks. Since it was the middle of the afternoon, Caleb was the only diner.

When the widow came through the door with two platters of food, Caleb rose to help her. “Set yourself down, young man. I’ve been doin’ this since before you were even thought of.” She met his gaze, and her expression softened. “I do appreciate it, son. Your mama ought to be proud she raised such a gentleman.”

Caleb swallowed hard and rubbed his freshly smooth jawbone. Well, he’d fooled her, hadn’t he? “Thank you, ma’am,” he managed as he tied the red-checked napkin around his neck.

Twenty minutes later Caleb had feasted on beef stew and rock-hard biscuits and was contemplating whether to wash his pie down with cold milk or buttermilk when the door swung open. The man who walked in looked as if he’d ridden longer than Caleb and hadn’t quite met with the soap bar yet. Of course he planted his dusty bones within spitting distance of Caleb.

“Howdy,” the fellow said, and Caleb responded with a tip of his head.

He stabbed at the pie with his fork and kept his attention focused on the plate. Last thing he needed was a confrontation with a stranger. Caleb knew he’d probably be run out of town on a rail once the good citizens of Dime Box got wind of his past. He just hadn’t expected it would happen before he had a good night’s sleep.

The Widow Sykes came back through with buttermilk and poured him a glassful without asking. When she disappeared into the kitchen, Caleb set down his fork.

“Me, I hate the stuff,” the stranger said. “I hear tell they make it from sour milk. Now, you tell me who wants to drink sour milk when there’s fresh to be had.”

Just to be ornery, Caleb took a healthy swallow. He’d gotten used to the vile drink at his mama’s table. Now he had it for old times’ sake. Never, however, had he learned to like it.

The fellow watched Caleb set the glass back on the table, then shook his head. “Name’s Thompson.” He stretched across the table to shake Caleb’s hand. “Ed Thompson. When I’m not on the trail, I’ve got the Lazy T Ranch just north of here. Oh, and I’m the mayor around these parts.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mayor Thompson. You wouldn’t be kin to the young man at the livery, would you?”

Ed chuckled. “Depends on what he did. Oh, and call me Ed.”

“He’s a fine young man.” Caleb removed the napkin from his neck and took a swipe at his lips. “Good with horses, too, far as I can tell.”

“Well, I’m right glad t’hear it. I never know if he’s gonna behave for his mama like he does when I’m around.” He glanced down at the trail dust on his shirt, then back at Caleb. “I apologize for the way I look. I’m hungry as a bear, and wouldn’t you know I’d come home the day of my wife’s quilting bee? I’m not about to show up to a hen party. Better I fill my belly here, then slide in the back door once the ladies are gone.”

Caleb muttered an agreement, then reached for his hat.

“Hold on there, stranger. I don’t believe I caught your name.”

Caleb froze. His breath caught in his throat. His name? As with the Widow Sykes, he said, “The name’s Wilson.”

For a moment Ed said nothing. Then something akin to recognition seemed to cross his face. “Did you say Wilson?”

“I did.” Caleb took a step back, eyes narrowed. If the Lord saw fit to allow trouble with the first man he met in Dime Box, then so be it. He’d just have to take it as a sign to move on and start his new life elsewhere.

Ed rose and rounded the table to grip Caleb’s shoulder. “You’re Cal Wilson?”

Cal Wilson? He did ask the Lord for a new name just as it said in the book of Isaiah. Still, setting the man straight seemed the right thing to do, even if it meant having to hightail it out of town before sunset.

“Well, my mama named me Caleb, but you got the Wilson part right.”

Ed Thompson took him by the shoulders, all the while grinning like he’d just found gold. “Well, now this
is
a surprise. I been looking for you nigh on a week.”

Caleb swallowed hard. So there was another bounty on his head. By turning himself in back in Texas, he thought he’d gotten out from under all the trouble he’d put himself in.

“You don’t look nothin’ like I expected. You sure you’re Cal Wilson?”

“Like I said, Mama named me Caleb, sir. That’s generally the name I go by.”

“Guess I got it wrong then, but you’re definitely the one we been lookin’ for.”

Caleb thought a minute before responding. “What for?”

“You’re an odd fella, Cal. It’s all in the telegram from Dodge City. I believe I’ve got it somewhere back at the house. You want me to fetch it and show you?”

He exhaled a long breath and set his hat back atop his head. “Reckon we ought to mosey on to the jailhouse and get this over with then.”

Ed Thompson shoved the last of his biscuit into his mouth, then washed the crumbling mess down with a healthy swallow of coffee. When he finished, he rose and swiped his palms on the front of his shirt. With a nod in Caleb’s direction, he said, “Reckon so.”

The man spoke with such happiness that the old Caleb would have slugged him for sure. But then the old Caleb would have been on the fastest horse out of town. Rather, Caleb found himself slowing his stride to keep pace with the sheriff as he headed willingly to jail.

Again.

New Orleans, Louisiana—May 1881

L
ydia Bertrand glanced around her room one last time, then allowed May, her mother’s maid and now hers, to help her down the stairs. Were she capable of tears at this moment, she might have shed them.

If only Papa were here. Surely he would stop this madness. Surely he wouldn’t allow Mama to ship me off as if I were some package headed for the Western frontier
.

They stepped into the courtyard. The fountain gurgled, and the leaves dripped with sparkles of raindrops from a rain shower Lydia hadn’t even noticed. Beneath her feet, the centuries-old bricks shone as if freshly painted. It seemed as if God had washed the courtyard clean in anticipation of her arrival.

She stopped short and grasped May’s hand. “Mama said Papa’s in New York.” She whispered lest Mama be nearby. “What say we turn in our tickets for passage north? I’m sure once he hears what Mama has done he will overrule her.”

May gave her a sideways look. “First off, chile, New York City’s bigger’n any place you or I’s ever been, and we don’t know where your papa done gone there. Ain’t no way to find a man lessen you know where he’s done gone.” She paused. “Second, your papa loves your mama more’n either of us can understand. They’s put together by the Lord, and they fit like hand-in-glove. Your mama, bless her heart, was a strong-willed chile. Your papa, he lets her have her way, now don’t he? You really think he gonna overrule your mama on somethin’ she’s so set on doin’?”

Unfortunately, Lydia couldn’t disagree with anything May said.

“That’s right. You know I’m tellin’ the truth.” She looked as if she wanted to say more. Instead, she turned her head and made a soft clucking sound.

“Go ahead and say it, May.”

“All right, I will.” She paused. “I wonder iffen the good Lord ain’t behind this.” At Lydia’s incredulous look, May shook her head. “The Bible said we reap what we sow. You done sowed a whole bunch of trouble dancin’ in that fountain at school, Miss Lydia.”

Again she couldn’t deny it. “So what do I do, May? This is serious.”

May seemed to consider the statement for a moment. “Chile, how big is your God? ’Cause my God is bigger’n any human plan.”

Nodding, Lydia felt the beginnings of hope stirring.

“Well then.” May placed her dark wrinkled hand over Lydia’s, then squeezed. “If it’s the Lord’s intention that your mama get her way, there’s nothin’ you can do about it less’n you intend to jump outta His will. You wantin’ to do that, Lydia Bertrand? You wanna go against the Lord Almighty?”

Lydia’s heart sank. Disobedience had always come so easily. “No,” she said softly. “Not this time.”

“I didn’t think so.” May looked past her, presumably to the coachman. “She ready to go.” Returning her gaze to Lydia, May smiled. “You the spittin’ image of your mama. Difference is, by the time she was your age, you were runnin’ around makin’ trouble and she had lost your two brothers to the yellow fever.” Her face softened as if remembering all over again. A moment later she stiffened her spine and blinked hard. “It’s time you left here and made your own way in the world. What you think about that?”

Lydia glanced back at the house, and something sharp twisted in her gut. Was that Mama who let the lace curtain fall in the window above the door, or had the breeze caught it?

“I think she’s banishing me.”

May released her hand to envelop Lydia in a hug. “She not banishin’ you—she sendin’ you forth. Now let’s us get a-goin’. Ain’t no use to tarry when the Lord’s got plans for both of us.”

“May I help you in, Mademoiselle Bertrand?”

Lydia sighed as the same coachman who had handed her out of the carriage this morning now helped her back in. Two trunks and a carpetbag later, they rolled out of the courtyard onto Rue Royale with May seated beside the driver.

This time Mama definitely was nowhere to be seen.

Lydia reached for her journal to record the moment, then thought better of it. Whatever the Lord had for her, it was better she not speculate in her current frame of mind. Nor should she dwell on the feelings she now found raging inside her.

Instead, she cast her gaze down to the travel voucher in her hand and tried to pray.

When her jumbled hopes and cares refused to form a coherent thought, Lydia settled for leaning on the assurance that the Holy Spirit had taken her mutterings to the throne. As she glanced up front to where May sat, Lydia saw the older woman bow her head.

The rest of the trip to the train station seemed to go by quickly, as did the first leg of Lydia’s journey west. By the time she and May landed on the doorstep of the Menger Hotel in San Antonio, Texas, she’d almost gotten used to the idea of being sent forcefully into the world.

Lydia slept soundly and might have missed breakfast to linger beneath the covers except for the noise from construction on the hotel’s new east wing. This time when she prayed, she found the words to ask the Lord for a way to escape her current situation. While He did not respond immediately, Lydia had no doubt He was behind the plan she began to concoct.

As she handed the cream-colored letter to the gentleman behind the front desk and bade good-bye to the Menger Hotel, Lydia felt her heart grow lighter. Mama might hold the key to Lydia’s immediate future, but eventually Papa would prevail. As soon as he heard of her troubles, he would surely come to her rescue.

All she had to do was bide her time until he arrived. She held that thought all the way across the rest of Texas and into New Mexico. By the time the train came to the end of the line and they transferred to a stage for the rest of the trip, the thought had become a prayer that she took to the throne every time they lurched over a rough patch of trail.

When not in prayer, Lydia contemplated how best to spend her time. Papa had long ago listed pertinent scripture verses in the front of her Bible, and she turned to them now. Chief among them was the one she called her life verse.

From the sixty-second chapter of Isaiah, she ran her finger over Papa’s bold backward-slanting script. “And the Gentiles shall see thy righteousness, and all kings thy glory: and thou shalt be called by a new name, which the mouth of the Lord shall name.”

To Lydia’s surprise, May began to giggle. When a stern look did not silence the older woman’s mirth, Lydia closed the Bible and shook her head.

“What’s so funny, May?”

“Read that verse again, Miss Lydia.” When Lydia complied, May doubled over in laughter. A moment later she gathered her wits. “I’m not laughin’ at you, I promise. It’s just that…” She pointed to the Bible. “Well, the good Lord, He do have a sense of humor.”

The stage jolted to a stop, and Lydia braced herself. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, now, He say right there that you gonna be called by a new name. You see it?”

The coach lurched into motion once more. “Yes, I see it, but I repeat: what’s so funny?”

“It’s just that in all the years you were claimin’ this verse as your own, did you ever think God would be doin’ exactly what He says there?”

Lydia set the Bible aside and massaged her temples. The dull ache that had begun in New Mexico threatened to bloom into a full-fledged headache now that they’d left the state behind.

She closed her eyes and sighed. “Honestly, May, I have no idea what you mean.”

May touched Lydia’s sleeve. “You gettin’ a new name now, aren’t you, chile? Maybe you need t’stop blamin’ your mama and start thankin’ your Lord for makin’ good on His promise.”

When the reality of the statement hit her, Lydia could only groan.

“You know He goin’ with us, now don’t you?” May grasped a handful of Lydia’s traveling frock and blinked hard. “I been prayin’ for protection for you since you been borned, Miss Lydia, same as my mama did with your mama. The good Lord, He listen then, and He’s kept you safe in spite of yourself, now hasn’t He?”