Chapter Forty-One

Soft tapping on her cheeks woke Belle the next morning. When she turned her head, she stared into the bright eyes of the sweetest man on earth—her little man.

“Wake up, Mama.” Johnathan repeated the words several times.

“All right, all right. I am awake. Good morning.”

“Good morning, Mama.”

“Why are you up so early?”

“Old Bailey gave me a piece of sugar. When I asked for more, he said to ask you.” His eyes sparkled. “Please, Mama. It tastes so good.”

“I know, son, but sugar is costly to purchase. We have to make ours last until next year’s sugar canes are ready to harvest.”

“But, I helped. I rode the mule.”

“That you did. One more piece for you today.”

“Thank you, Mama.” He kissed her cheek and ran out of the room, his little feet barely skimming the plank floorboards.

Belle dressed and went downstairs for breakfast with Johnathan who rambled on and on about riding the mule—like that was the only step to making cane sugar. She never tired of listening to him string words together to make long sentences. The staff gave him an attentive audience. Maybe he’ll be a great orator.

Nothing required the attention of the mistress of the house that morning, so she looked forward to a quiet day. No wind stirred, making it a perfect time to sit on the front porch. Johnathan played on the lawn with his wooden wagons while she sewed buttons on his shirts with the sinew she had purchased.

I wonder how Jake is faring after his injury. Knives and guns—my, how those weapons maim and kill people, especially out here in Texas.

At the noonday meal she shared with Johnathan, she made a decision. To live in Texas required skill, strength, stamina, and determination—grit. As a small woman, she knew her limitations when it came to strength. I can compensate by increasing skill.

After she put Johnathan down for a nap, she asked Old Bailey for the key to Stephen’s library. Entering the room where the successful plantation owner spent most of his time made Belle feel like she was intruding. His massive desk was gone, and that seemed to help. With cautious steps, she reached the large wall of bookshelves and breathed in the smell of books. Picking up a box of new pencils brought her joy.

“Mr. Munroe, it took you, a successful cabinetmaker, to make pencils for plain people like me.” The square writing instruments were constructed of two pieces of wood with a bar of graphite inside, the wood glued together and sanded smooth in a factory back east.

Letting her fingers trace the spines of rows of books, Belle discovered volumes on vegetation, crops, and flora, joined by those on historical and political figures. Literary classics and a complete set of law books rounded out his library.

“There they are,” Belle whispered. “I knew this southern gentleman would have a couple pairs of these.” She opened a shiny, mahogany case and revealed a matched set of dueling pistols by P. Desponds of Switzerland.

“Wonderful.” She slid out the drawer that housed the accessories required to load the guns for firing. The percussion pistols were almost a foot long with incredible engraving on parts made of silver. Fine carving decorated the wooden grips, but the butts were inlaid with heavy silver.

“If I don’t have time to reload, I can bust a bandit’s skull open with this.” Oh, my. I sound like a brigand myself. Pausing to remember her father, she said, “Thank you for teaching me to shoot colored leaves on trees the last autumn you had here on earth.” She wondered if target practice on the edge of a forest in the Carolinas would transfer to shooting a man if she had to defend her family’s life in the wilds of Texas.

Upon returning the key to Old Bailey, she requested a horse and buggy, brushing aside his concerns for her safety. Within minutes, he opened the front door for her and revealed the answer to her request.

With the cased weapons wrapped in a small quilt on the buggy seat beside her, she and a spirited mare cantered across smooth prairie until they reached the bank of the Red River. She hadn’t seen a soul since she left River Bend, enjoying the peace and solitude of the trip and the feeling of ownership. She was taking control of her life instead of reacting to a crisis and planned to be prepared for what might come her way in the future.

Hopping down from the buggy, she tied the horse to a sturdy tree limb and loaded both pistols. The mare quivered and stomped when the first blast hit a tree trunk. Belle stroked the horse’s neck and crooned to her before moving farther away for her next shot. After spending the better part of the afternoon on the riverbank, the stillness broken only by gunfire and the frightened chatter of birds, she headed home—her aim and the speed of reloading better than she imagined.

From a distance, she could see her son playing on the lawn and a man sitting in one of the rocking chairs on the plantation’s front porch. When she brought the mare to a stop, Trader Jake rose from the rocker, his height and intense glare giving Belle a sense of foreboding.

“Where have you been?” His demanding tone spurred her to anger.

“I went for a ride,” she said. “Did you intend to confine me to quarters?”

“No, but your safety is a concern for me. Traveling alone is unwise, especially with rendezvous winding down. Do you not recall your attempted abduction?”

The air of defiance whooshed from the young woman’s indignation. She had no words to fight fact. After handing the reins to Toby, she stepped down from the buggy, her eyes avoiding Jake. She carried the pistols to her room and rested until suppertime.

Sitting at opposite ends of the formal dining table later, she and Jake ate their evening meal.

“I leave the settlement before the week is out and will be on my way to the Texas Gulf,” he said. “From there, I set sail for Europe.”

“I shall pray for your safety and success,” she said.

“And I shall do likewise for yours.”

Belle faced him. “Oh?”

“I shall be gone a long time, and Texas is becoming more dangerous of late.”

“Why is that?”

“The Mexican government wanted settlers, but they are no longer kind to the immigrants. Comancheros are moving farther east, as well, so you and River Bend could suffer attacks at any time.” Jake no longer spoke in an accusatory tone but sounded concerned for her welfare.

“We shall be mindful of strangers and take notice of anything unusual.”

“Be more than mindful. Stay alert, Belle. Should you feel threatened, take Johnathan through the tunnel to the windbreak.”

“Over by the oak grove? A tunnel opens up way out there?”

“It does, but it’s well hidden.”

“How do I enter the tunnel, Jake? I’ve never heard of it.”

“The entrance is under the butler’s pantry. Old Bailey will lead you.”

Sitting in silence for a while, Belle envisioned what an adventure Johnathan would think they were experiencing if they raced into a tunnel.

Despite Trader Jake’s buckskin apparel, he remained a southern gentleman, standing when she rose from the table and excused herself for the rest of the evening. Afraid to spend more time with him, she hurried upstairs. I can’t get too close to the man because I don’t want to see him injured again. Men in my life tend to wind up in the doctor’s office, fighting to survive.

Alone in her room, she wrote in her journal. Before bed, she added his trip to her prayers.

The next morning, Jake had left for Horseshoe Bend by the time Belle woke. Hearing the ring of hammers, she hurried down the hall toward the rear of the house. From its second floor window, she saw George and Daniel Campbell nailing timber together to frame a new barn.

What a lovely sight. Progress for River Bend and father and son working together. Having no siblings and her father dying early, she had missed out on family camaraderie. Except my mother. Belle spent most of the morning planning the design for a quilt.

Whole-cloth quilts still dominated America’s quilt styles, whether decorated with heavily stitched medallions or precise leaves and blossoms in applique. She wanted to try a different approach. Choosing fabric from several packets proved to be more difficult than her desire to create something new and different. Once she narrowed her choices down to five fabrics, she did the unthinkable. Using her sharpened shears, she snipped into the fabric!

After snipping along one side, precisely three inches apart, she laid the shears aside and tore the cotton fabric into a long strip and gasped. There was no turning back. With each tear at each snip, her confidence grew. So did her excitement. Fresh-cut timber for the barn mirrored the pattern circling inside her brain. Continuing to snip and tear brought her a new-found peace.

Later while watching her son play, she sat in a rocking chair and sewed strips together, making sure no two came from the same piece of fabric. When Johnathan tired, she put him down for a nap. Inspired by her creative activity, she returned to her chair and completed several pieces for the quilt top, stopping often to rethread her needle.

Laying her sewing aside, she wondered how many tiny stitches she had sewn that afternoon. Walking downstairs for the evening meal, she laughed and said, “Too many to count.”

“Count? Oh, no. I shouldn’t have been sewing today. How many are coming to the wedding reception? It’s the day after tomorrow.” She raced downstairs.

“Old Bailey, we have to plan a reception!”

“Yas, missy. Soon’s you eat.”

“Now. We have little time.”

“Yas, missy.” He pulled out a chair for her at the dining table, refusing to move until she was seated, and served her at his normal speed.

Feeling his pleasant firmness, calmness enveloped her. Without hurrying the delicious bounty presented to her, she enjoyed the meal and realized plans for the reception began to form in her mind without the frenzy she had anticipated.

“Has Johnathan eaten and bathed?”

“Yas, missy.”

As if on cue, Johnathan came up behind her and tickled her neck. She turned in her chair and gave him a hug.

Before dark, she and Johnathan skipped down to the site for the new barn where George and Daniel were finishing up for the day.

“Three logs high on the back half,” George said.

“And foundation for the floor,” Daniel said, beaming. “Did most of that myself.”

“That’s amazing you’ve come along so fast,” Belle said. “This barn’s going to be huge. When I met you, George, you didn’t tell me you were a carpenter.”

“No, because I’m a farmer. When you farm, you find ways to build the things you need.”

“Or repair them,” Daniel said, and his father nodded.

“I’m confused,” Belle said. “I understand the layout, but the floor doesn’t cover it all.”

“No need to add flooring under the stalls,” George said. “Fresh straw on top of this sandy soil will work fine where the animals are kept.”

“Got to get this floor finished by tomorrow,” Daniel said. “My floor. Lots of people coming to see it before long.”

Belle arched her eyebrow. “How’s that, Daniel?”

“Wedding,” he said. “Can’t have a wedding without a dance.”

“Dance,” Johnathan said. “I can dance. Toby taught me.” He tapped his feet and clapped his hands before he twirled around and almost fell. When everyone giggled, he bowed, causing them to laugh at him again.

Dance. This reception is practically planning itself.

Two days later, Belle and Old Bailey took the buggy into the settlement.