The Yellow Rose (24 page)

“I can’t even talk to him,” Clay said. “I’d like to shoot him.”

Jerusalem reached out then and touched his hand. “He couldn’t have saved her, Clay, even if he had been there.”

“Don’t take up for him,” Clay said tersely. “He’s a drunken bum. He should have been with her. Even if he got killed, that’d be better than leaving her alone.”

“I guess you’ll have to forgive him, Clay. That’s pretty plain in the Bible for Christians.”

Clay swallowed hard and shook his head. “I’ll try, but it won’t be easy.”

Zane and Brodie stepped off their horses, both of them exhausted. Clinton had seen them coming and shouted, bringing those in the house outside. The babies were asleep, so Clay and Jerusalem came out on the porch and stood together, with Julie slightly off to one side.

Even before the two men dismounted, Jerusalem felt a coldness close around her heart.
They didn’t find her,
she thought. But she said nothing.

Both men were worn down to the point of exhaustion as they approached the house. They could barely walk they were so tired.

“I wish we had better news,” Zane said as he looked at Jerusalem.

“You didn’t find her?” Jerusalem asked quietly.

“No. We never even seen a trace of them.”

“We lost two men,” Brodie said. He cleared his throat, for his voice was hoarse. “They came in one night while we was asleep and cut their throats. They were on guard, and we never heard ’em when they died.”

“That convinced everybody to come back home. Everybody except me and Brodie here, but we couldn’t even figure out which way they went.”

“I’m goin’ back after her,” Brodie said. He lifted his head. His face was planed down, and he had lost weight on the trail.

“We’d lose you, too, Brodie,” Clay said quietly, “and your ma can’t bear that, and neither can I.”

“Come on in the house after you clean up,” Jerusalem said. “Me and Julie will fix you something to eat.”

Jerusalem and Clay sat on the porch. Jerusalem was holding Rachel, and Clay was holding Samuel. He was looking down into Sam’s face and talking to him, as if he were an adult. “Well, son, you sure gave your ma a bunch of grief. I know it wasn’t all your fault, but you got a lot of makin’ up to do. I want you to listen to your pa now, because we’re gonna have lots of long talks, and you don’t want to let no pearls drop to the ground.”

Jerusalem laughed. “He can’t understand a word you’re saying.”

“Why, sure he can! He’s a smart boy, just like I was. When I was his age, I was practically talking.”

As she sat there looking at her daughter, she thought of Moriah. She had been grieved over the failure of the riders to find Moriah. Deep in her heart she had known there was little hope, but something inside would not let her give up hope. She would continue to pray for God to protect Moriah and bring her home. She listened as Clay talked to his son. At the same time, she was looking at Rachel on her own lap, wondering what sort of life would lie ahead of her. She caught a sudden motion and looked up quickly. She had not seen Quaid since he had come back from town. She knew Clay had been rough on him, and Quaid Shafter had avoided all of them. He came now slowly dragging his feet and holding his hat in his hands. Jerusalem glanced swiftly at Clay and saw that he was staring at the man, his face hard. Jerusalem said quickly, “You’d better come in and have something to eat, Quaid.”

“No, ma’am, don’t reckon.”

He came to a stop, and Jerusalem saw that all of the happiness and joy that he seemed to carry about with him were gone. His eyes were tragic, and he could not speak for a long time.

Finally, he cleared his throat and said, “Ma’am, I’m sorry for what I done.”

“I know you feel bad, Quaid.”

“ It . . . it ain’t
bad
I feel. It’s like I’m dead. I wish I was.”

Jerusalem said, “We learn from our mistakes. I hope you learned from this, Quaid, to be responsible when people trust you.”

“I don’t reckon anybody’d ever trust me again.”

“You can win their respect, but it will take time,” Jerusalem said.

Quaid did not answer. He turned and faced Clay, his back stiff. He did not speak again as Clay glared at him. Quaid broke his gaze away and looked back at Jerusalem. “I’m sorry.” He turned and walked quickly away.

“I wish he’d get off the place. It makes me mad just to look at him,”

Clay muttered.

Jerusalem turned to face him, her eyes fixed on his face. “It’s good you never made any mistakes, Clay. It’s good to have one perfect man around to point out our faults when the rest of us fail.”

Clay was shocked at her tone. “Why, Jerusalem—”

“I told you, Clay, forgiving people isn’t something we can choose to do or not to do. You told me you had stopped running from God. If you have, prove it.”

Clay stared at her and then smiled. “People say I’m tough, but they don’t know tough. Now,
you’re
tough, woman.”

Jerusalem smiled. “Yes, I am. It won’t do any good to beat up on Quaid. He’s sorry for what he’s done. He’d undo it if he could. That’s all any of us can do.”

The two sat there, but they were both thinking about Moriah. The silence was broken when Brodie stepped out of the house. He walked purposefully toward them, his tall frame tense, and Jerusalem looked up at him. He had shaved and cleaned himself up and had on clean clothes, but there was a stiffness about him. “What is it, Brodie?” Jerusalem said, although she suspected what he had to say.

“I’m going to try to find Moriah,” Brodie said tightly. There was a hardness in his tone, and before either one of them could speak, he said, “There’s no point in arguing with me, either of you. It’s somethin’ I’ve got to do. It’d be nice if I could go with your blessing.”

Clay did not speak. He felt this was Jerusalem’s place. He knew better than she the hopelessness of a young man with little experience with Indians starting out to find a woman in Comanche territory, but he said nothing.

Jerusalem surprised them both. “If you have to do it, Brodie, then we’ll be proud of you whether you find her or not.”

Brodie suddenly seemed to relax. He went over to his mother and put his hand on her shoulder. “Thanks for not tryin’ to stop me, Ma. I’ve got to do it.”

“When will you be leaving?”

“First thing in the morning.” Brodie turned and said, “Clay, I know you think I’m foolish, and maybe I am, but I hope you understand.”

“Sure I do, son. I’m proud of you.”

Brodie stared at him and then smiled. “That means a lot to me, Clay.”

He turned and walked out in the growing darkness toward the stable.

Brodie had eaten breakfast and then said his good-byes. He leaned over both the twins, stroked their heads, and said, “You take care of these young’uns, Ma.”

“I will, Brodie.”

Brodie came to stand in front of Julie. He did something he had not done for a long time. He put his arms around her, squeezed her, and then kissed her on the cheek. “I reckon I never said how much I think of you, Aunt Julie, but I do.”

Julie was stirred by his words. She wanted to beg him not to go, but she saw the determination on his face. “You take care, Brodie,” she whispered and could say no more.

Brodie moved over and put his hand out, and Clay, who was standing by the door, shook it firmly. “I’ll do the best I can.”

“Your ma and me are proud of you. We’ll be praying for you, Brodie.”

“Thanks, Clay.” Brodie went to his mother. She was standing with her eyes fixed on his face. “I’ll be as careful as I can, Ma. I promise.”

Jerusalem could not answer at first, for the emotions of losing Brodie too choked her. She reached out, and when he took her in his arms, she squeezed him hard. She felt the strength of his arms and was determined not to cry in front of him. “We’ll be waiting for you
and
Moriah,” she said and managed a smile.

Brodie turned and walked outside, and the others all followed him.

Brodie stopped abruptly. He had already saddled his horse, but he saw Quaid Shafter standing on the ground in front of the porch. Brodie did not speak. He had not spoken to Shafter since his sister had been captured.

He had a deep bitterness against Quaid, and as he stepped to his horse, he heard Shafter say, “Give me a horse, Clay. I’ll go with him.”

“What good would you do?” Brodie said roughly. “You’d run away or get drunk the first chance you got.”

“I don’t think it’d be a good idea for you two to go together,” Clay said, his eyes fixed on Shafter. But he was remembering not Quaid Shafter, but Quaid’s father—what a good man he had been. A vague hope stirred within him, and he said, “If you were your pa, it’d be different. He was a real man.”

Quaid met Clay’s eyes straight forward. “All you’re risking is a horse, a gun, and some shells.”

A silence fell over the yard, and suddenly Jerusalem said, “Give him what he needs, Clay.” Everyone turned to look at Jerusalem, and she said, “Everyone deserves a second chance.”

Clay stared at Jerusalem and then looked back at Quaid and nodded.

“You’re right. I’ll let you take that claybank you’ve always liked. He’s got bottom. Wait here.” He went inside the house, and Brodie stood beside his horse unhappy, refusing to look at Quaid Shafter.

Clay came out of the house with his own rifle and a pistol and cartridge belt. “Take these,” he said. “They both shoot true.”

They all watched as Shafter buckled the gun belt and took the rifle.

He looked at Jerusalem but did not speak.

Brodie spoke roughly. “Well, if you’re goin’, get on your horse.”

Brodie stepped into the saddle, and Shafter was right behind him.

Brodie said, “I’ll be back when I can.” He turned his horse and kicked him into a fast trot. Shafter said not a word but pulled the claybank around and started after him.

Jerusalem watched the two disappear. Clay came over and put his arm around her. “It’s a mighty thin hope, Jerusalem.”

“I’m going to believe God. I don’t care how long it takes.”

“Then I’ll believe with you.” His grip tightened around her, and they watched as the two riders faded slowly as they headed north toward Comanche territory.

PART FOUR:
THE CAPTIVE
May 1838—June 1841

CHAPTER
TWENTY

J
erusalem glanced up from where she was sitting in her rocker and smiled at the sight before her. Clay was lying flat on his back, and the twins were cooing on his chest. They were pulling his hair, pounding him with their clenched fists, and screaming like miniature Comanches. The sight of the three of them pleased her inordinately, for before she married Clay she had no idea what he would be like as a husband— much less as a father. His tender love for her had been an immense satisfaction, but when she discovered she was pregnant, she had begun to worry about Clay’s attitude. He had been a single man for so long, going where he pleased and doing what he wanted. To be tied down with a wife and a baby—well, that was another matter altogether! Some men, she well knew, were never able to succeed as a father, and she had prayed much that the coming of the baby would be a good thing for Clay.

And then the twins had arrived, and miraculously Clay had been saved on that same day, kneeling on the front porch and calling out to God for His mercy and forgiveness. Since that moment, except for his newfound devotion to Jesus Christ, the most important thing in Clay Taliferro’s life had been his wife and his new family. Jerusalem had been delighted and amazed simultaneously. Now, watching them, she offered up a quick thanksgiving to the Lord for the wonderful man that she had married.

Bob had meandered over to watch the antics of the three and joined in by backing up and sitting down on Clay’s outstretched legs. Smokey the cat was more dignified and simply watched from his exalted perch on the table. Clay said, “Get off my feet, Bob—you weigh a ton.” He sat up and grabbed Rachel under one arm and Samuel under the right. Coming to his feet in one swift movement, he began to turn in circles, eliciting squeals of delight from both of the babies.

“You’ll make them sick, Clay.”

“No, I won’t. They’re a tough pair.” He stopped turning, however, and stared first in the face of Sam, who immediately reached out and grabbed his nose, then at Rachel, who grabbed two handfuls of his hair. Clay came over and plopped down in the chair across from Jerusalem and endured the punishment that the twins were handing out.

Jerusalem smiled and shook her head in wonder. “I do believe you’d let that pair scalp you! You’re a fine father, Clay.”

“Well, shucks, who wouldn’t be? I’ll tell you these are the finest pair of young’uns in Texas. I’m as proud as a cat with two tails!”

Jerusalem laughed out loud. “What a thing to say!” She put her knitting down, went over, and plucked Sam up and bounced him on her knee.

“The new herd, is it doing as well as you expected?”

“Why, wife, we’re making money hand over fist,” Clay said. “If it keeps on going like it’s been going for the past year, we’ll have enough money to burn a wet mule.”

Indeed, Clay had become as good a rancher as he had a husband and father. He had hired Mexicans to help him round up the wild cattle that roamed the plains as well as enough wild horses to form a good-sized remuda. With the help of Zane and Clinton, Star Ranch had, indeed, prospered. They had been able to sell off one sizable herd in New Orleans and make a considerable dent in the loan they owed to Fergus.

Finally, both Jerusalem and Clay put the twins down on the floor. They immediately began to maul Bob, who apparently enjoyed it. Ignoring their squeals, Jerusalem remarked, “I’m worried about the church, Clay.”

“Well, I am, too. It looks pretty bad.”

“I think maybe you should have let them make you a deacon.” The church had approached Clay and had asked him to become a deacon, but he had refused, saying that he was not founded in the faith enough and needed more training. Then three weeks later tragedy had struck when the pastor had left under bad circumstances. He had fallen into an affair with a local woman and had left his wife and two children. Since then the church had wavered, and many had fallen by the wayside.