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At Liberty to Love (Texas Romance) (Volume 7)

By Caryl McAdoo

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CHAPTER ONE / AT LIBERTY TO LOVE

Clarksville, Texas, October 2, 1865

“Are you sure about this?”
Rebecca nodded. “Yes, Daddy. I’ve considered every angle and studied long and hard on it. I’m certain, and my mind is made up.”
He closed his eyes as though he couldn’t stand watching her leave. “I hate it.”
A chuckle threatened, but he was being so pathetic. She swallowed the giggle. “I know, but don’t worry. I’ll be back before you know it.”
His lids lifted, then he leaned in a bit and lowered his voice. “You’ve got both Derringers?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you’re wearing the petticoat Laura made you?”
Mother May punched his arm. “Henry, leave her be. She’s a grown woman.”
“Mercy, baby. I hate this.”
“You’ve already said that, Daddy.”
Movement caught her eye. The driver hustled from the stage’s boot up to the front then climbed aboard next to the guard. “Looks like he’s ready to go, and that I’m his only hold-up.”
“Don’t mind him.”
She reached up and kissed his cheek then hugged Mother May. “I love you both.”
More hugs and kisses followed. One each for her to pass along to all the west coast clan. She thought they might never stop, but soon found herself waving from her window until the dust cloud blocked her view.
Hard even for her to believe it, but there she was. Really doing it. A big part of her heart remained on the boardwalk in front of the Donoho with her parents.
Except they weren’t, not really. Neither one of them.
From the first, she’d known that God sent Henry Buckmeyer in answer to her prayers. And her perfect daddy proved to be the perfect husband for her mother, too. What a trip lay ahead!
Traveling over the exact same ground as in ’32 where she’d almost immediately fallen in love with her stepfather. But she’d never thought of him that way, not since the beginning.
Why, she’d been calling him Daddy from the second day on the Jefferson Trace.
Good thing her mother said yes when he asked her…even though she really shouldn’t have since he wasn’t saved yet. The man had captured her heart by then though, and blurting out ‘yes’ kept everything in God’s plan.
A smile crossed her lips remembering her own husband. Daddy always claimed he would never have proposed to Mama again if she’d turned him down that first time.
But Wallace? He’d asked Rebecca more than a hundred times at the least. He would never have quit until she agreed to marry, that was for sure and for certain.
The landscape hadn’t changed much, but the means of travel definitely progressed. Back then, two mules could only pull a loaded wagon about ten miles a day. Twelve or thirteen took some doing.
The stage covered the same distance in an hour. She loved it. But like Mama, still hated the dust and the coach’s swaying and bumping.
“Going far?”
She looked up.
On the far bench, a matron smiled, sitting next to what appeared to be her husband.
“Yes, ma’am. On my way to California.”
“Oh, dear, sweetheart. You’re going the wrong way.”
She smiled. “I know, but I’ve chosen to take the easy route even though it’s a bit longer. I’ve loved riding steamboats since only a girl.”
“Oh, I see. We’re staying in Mount Pleasant a few days. Louie, here…” She patted the man’s hand. “He’s a watchmaker, and we figured he can find a week’s worth of work, maybe longer.”
“Yes, ma’am. Titus County has certainly grown. If you get by Mister Andrew’s Trading Post, please tell him Rebecca Buckmeyer sent her love.”
“I’d be pleased to.”
“He’s an old friend.”
In the next three hours, she learned way more about the couple than she ever wanted to know, but the conversation helped pass the time, and she’d only brought three novels…not that Jefferson and New Orleans didn’t have stores that stocked books.
She could hardly wait to get into Jules Verne’s Journey to the Center of the Earth. She’d been saving it.
At Mount Pleasant, the couple said their goodbyes and promised to visit the Titus Trading Post. A man dressed in an ill-fitting corduroy suit climbed aboard, taking the window seat on the opposite bench.
The driver hollered for all to board, but no one else did. Leather snapped, and at his “Ho!” the coach lurched forward, pushing her back into the seat. The oversized wheels turned. They’d be fun to ride up as she had on the trace when she was nine.
Grown, though, she could understand her mother’s horror at her fearless feat. The thought brought a giggle, and she immediately glanced at the gentleman who appeared to be ignoring her. Fine with her.
She went for a hankie to cover her mouth, slipping her hand in her purse.
A wave of unease washed over her.
Instead of the lacey handkerchief, her fingers found the Derringer’s trigger, and she positioned her clutch so that the gun’s barrel pointed right at the stranger. Daddy would be proud.
Not that the new passenger seemed all that threatening. Rather, he reminded her of someone she knew, although she couldn’t quite put her finger on who.
Still…better safe than sorry. That’s what Mama always said.
What had it been? Almost twenty-one years. Guess she’d never quit missing her.
The position proved uncomfortable, trying to read with one hand in her purse. Not to mention all the bumping and swaying.
And though the man looked her way now and again, he’d neither said nor done anything to suggest he meant her harm. She chocked her anxiousness up to traveling alone for the first time ever in her forty-two years.
Adjusting to lean against her corner, she changed the book from her left hand to the right and went back to reading.
A bit before Daingerfield, the man tapped the bench.
She looked up. He stared, and she matched his gaze, but holding it proved a bit difficult for his blue eyes were deep and threatened to pull her in.
He grinned. “I should have known it, first thing.”
Thankful for the speech to break the temptation to fall into those azure pools, she couldn’t resist responding. “And what would that be?”
“You’re Rebecca Rusk.”
“Do I know you, sir?”
“No, but I know you, well, in a roundabout way.” He tipped the bowler. “Condolences, ma’am, on your husband’s demise. He sure didn’t tell the half of it.”
“I’m sorry. To what are you referring?”
“Your beauty. Wallace and Levi never missed a chance to brag on your looks.”
She made her eyes return to her book, the man’s baritone much too melodious to encourage. Her cheeks warmed, and his words tugged at the piece of her heart Wallace’s stubbornness had scarred.
Despite her resolve not to, she looked up. “How is it you know my husband and brother?”
“I served in General Buckmeyer’s regiment.” A finger brushed the short brim of his silly-looking hat. “Major Ford at your service.”
“Thought you were a colonel?”
“No, that’s my cousin Rip.”
“You have a given name?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He grinned again, flashing his perfect teeth. “Are Bart and Houston well, doing good?”
“They are.” The man had her at a disadvantage. She stiffened her back and stared right into his baby blues. “Where are you headed, Major?”
“Nashville. I’ve applied at the university there.”
“Oh, I see.” Mixed emotions roiled inside. A part of her relieved that at Jefferson he’d be going north, yet another was disappointed he wouldn’t be. “So you’re going back to finish your education now that the war is over? Very commendable.”
“No, ma’am. Offering my services in mathematics or Latin, perhaps both. Doesn’t matter what I teach.”
His rich, soothing tone washed over her, followed with a refreshing wave of his eloquent words. She had to look away. A man of letters. Yet he wore such an ill-fitting suit and ridiculous hat.
Glancing back his way, she eyed him. “If I may suggest…perchance…might you’d consider more appropriate dress prior to your interview?”
He snickered. “Not everyone is as well-heeled as your father.”
“True.” Her words had no ill effect on the man, as if he deemed what he wore of no consequence—much the same as what he would be teaching. Did the man care about anything? “Perhaps you should have come to Clarksville first. Daddy would have loaned you money for a new suit and a proper hat.”
Without a hitch in that smile of his, he removed the bowler and flung the silly thing out the open window. “Shall I toss the suit as well?”
“No, of course not.” She searched the page for her place then looked right back up, cheeks warm again. “Well…do you have another?”
“I do not, but if you’re so concerned that my attire might dampen my chances at employment, perhaps trousers and a cotton shirt would win the day.”
Before she could answer, the driver blew the bugle outside the town that had sprung up around Captain Daingerfield’s spring. “I’ve got needle and thread in my bag. Alterations could make a big difference.”
Why had she said that? Sewing on the stage would most likely prick every fingertip and only get blood all over his only suit, making things worse.
But how could she not help one of Wallace’s comrades-in-arms?
Maybe ignoring that she’d mentioned it would accomplish its purpose. She’d fetch her kit in case it did not.
“Well, I do thank you for your condolences, sir.”



The stay in Daingerfield allowed Ford an opportunity to change. If the lady could improve the second-hand suit he’d found in Dallas, then why not?
Back in his seat with the stage once again heading south, he handed over the corduroy coat first. “The pants are not too bad.”
Rebecca took his offering. “Hold out your arm, fingers straight out.”
He complied, reaching across the center bench. “Thank you again, Mis’ess Rusk.”
She spread her cloth tape measure from his shoulder to his wrist. Her fingers touched his skin lightly. Sent a warmth straight to his heart, but he kept a straight face, a bit disappointed she hadn’t told him to call her Rebecca.
Wait! He knew. “Marcus Aurelius.”
She smiled, the first offered, and his heart skipped a beat. “What about him?”
“My given name. You see, my mother.…” He shrugged, shouldn’t speak poorly of the dead. “Bless her pea picking heart, the woman loved the last good emperor of Rome.”
“Marcus Ford.” She smiled again even bigger this time. “Rebecca Baylor Buckmeyer Rusk. Pleased to meet you, sir.”
“I prefer Major, if you don’t mind.”
“But why, pray tell? There’s not a thing wrong with Marcus, or even Mark. It’s a strong name. Though I can understand steering clear of that middle moniker.” She smiled again, and he practically swooned.
My, quite surprising the effect the beautiful lady had on him. If he didn’t know better, he’d think himself smitten indeed.
The desire to tell her his life grew with each breath, but he best keep his tongue. “Long story. Perhaps when you’re grown, I’ll enlighten you.”
She snickered. “You, sir, are nothing more than a flirt. Or either blind. My youth has long since faded.”
His lips curled into a smirk, almost the same one he hated on his sister’s mug, but the practiced expression had served him well.
“You must have married very young, my lady. I doubt you’ve seen twenty and five winters in your short and obviously protected life.”
The flush of her cheeks rewarded his little truth stretching. He pegged her age somewhere close to his own, but what lady didn’t enjoy being mistaken to be younger? Her appearance…
Suffice it to say that the classic beauty he beheld far outshone any he’d laid eyes upon before.
“Um hum.” She worked at cutting the coat’s second shoulder seam, and didn’t look up. “You know, Major, that lying will send you to hell same as stealing.”
“Methodist?”
That won him a glance. Her eyes sparkled so. “Yes, as a matter of fact. And you, Major? What is your faith?”
That time, he would not lie. “There’s a God out there somewhere, ma’am. I’m convinced of that fact. But to my way of thinking, He doesn’t reside in any church building of which I’ve darkened the door.”
She nodded. Her lips thinned in contemplation as she returned to her alterations, expertly threading a needle.
For a mile or better, she remained silent, and sewed, then looked up. “I’m on my way to San Francisco and should be away less than a year. If perchance, you find yourself in Texas again, I would love taking you to our meetings. The Lord is definitely there. Of that, I am convinced.”
The stories Wallace told were true. His widow was all he’d said and more.
“Perhaps, I’ll make a point of that. Least I could do to repay you for altering my suit.” He grinned. “Actually, I’ve got a list of questions I’d like to ask the man upstairs.”

 

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