Chapter Forty-Four

Trader Jake and the guests rode out before the sun climbed high in the Texas sky. The flurry of housekeeping and extra linens to launder kept the house staff busy. Without that bustle and its accompaniment of noise, Belle would have felt pangs of loneliness again.

Bracing herself for a verbal assault from the overseer, she walked down to the new barn. Daniel and George had cleared the remains of the previous night’s festival and prepared more logs to build the sides of the structure.

“Sure is quiet today,” Daniel said.

“Yes,” Belle said. “The only ones left are those who now live here.”

“Except for one,” George said. “Phineas.”

Belle shrugged. “He’s probably in the fields, checking on the workers.”

“No, ma’am,” George said. “He rode out before daylight, headed north.”

“Hmm.” Relieved she could avoid the man, she skipped to Lizzie’s kitchen to brag on the old woman in charge of food for the reception.

Five days later, the sound of repeated blows from a lash caught Belle’s ear. Rushing to the second-floor window, she looked down to see Phineas whipping slaves, one after another, each of the four men tied to the wheels of a buckboard. Securing her needle into the piecework she held, she laid it on the arm of a chair and dashed down the stairs. Once on the porch, she confronted Phineas.

“Drop that lash.”

He stopped whipping but maintained his menacing expression.

“What’s the meaning of this?”

“They’re guilty. Attempted escape,” he said, still holding his bullwhip. “Tried to run several times since coming off that auction block. Not going to hang them ’cause we need them.”

“So, these are new slaves? You bought more slaves?”

“Did. That’s one of my duties.”

“I assume Trader Jake authorized their purchase.”

“Not necessary. I am the overseer, after all.” He jabbed his thumb against his chest.

He parked in front of the main house to make a spectacle of this. I want to puke.

Keeping her composure and trying not to overstep her boundaries, she tried a different approach. “Without the previous owner’s guidance, we don’t know if we can maintain our present census. How are we going to feed four more mouths?”

“We’ll make do,” he said. “They’ll go hungry before the mistress of the house does.”

Ignoring his sneer, she turned to Old Bailey. “Get help to untie these poor souls from the wagon, feed them, and see to their wounds so the overseer will have sturdy workers to send to the fields.” With that, she knew Phineas could not argue. She marched back inside the house and slumped into the first chair she saw.

“So, that’s where he’s been,” she mumbled. “A slave auction, but why?”

When Old Bailey brought her a cordial of blackberry brandy, she refused. Upon considering what she had just experienced, she seized the glass and downed the liquid in one gulp.

“Bring me Toby!” Taking the edge from her voice, she added, “Please.”

“Yas, missy.” Old Bailey took the empty glass.

Toby arrived within minutes and stood in front of Belle.

“Toby, has the plantation lost any slaves over the last year or two, other than Absalom who works at the hotel?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Did anyone get sick and die?”

“No, ma’am.”

“You’re saying we have the same number of slaves on the books since before the crops were ready for harvest last year.”

“Don’t know cypherin’ ma’am, but three babes was borned.”

“Well, then, we’ve lost no field hands or house staff, and our skilled positions are filled.” She looked at Old Bailey. “We still have a blacksmith, a tanner, and grooms. Are we in need of anything, or anyone, else?”

Both men shook their heads. “Masta no go to auctions no mo’,” Toby said.

“Thank you, men. You’re dismissed.” Watching them leave, she wondered why Phineas would add more men to the plantation’s workforce.

The next week, Phineas brought eight more slaves to River Bend.

Belle’s concern over the addition of new slaves was tempered the next day by another packet of cloth. While she inspected its contents, she let a momentary peace wash over her.

By noontime, company rode in. Amelia and Catherine hopped down from a wagon while Samuel and Benjamin unloaded long pieces of wood.

“Hello and welcome to you all,” Belle said. “What in the blue blazes have you brought?”

“It’s a surprise,” Amelia said. “But you saw it before we could get it set up.”

“Trader Jake had you a new quilt frame made, and we got to deliver it,” Samuel said, his beaming face showing as much excitement as Belle felt inside.

“Come on in, all of you,” Belle said.

“After we set it up,” Samuel said. “We thought you’d like it under that big tree over there.”

“That would be perfect,” Belle said, “under the magnolia that Stephen said he worked so hard to grow. I’ll have plenty of shade for quilting, and Johnathan can play there at the same time.”

Once the frame was in place, the newlyweds ate their noon meal at the plantation.

“We have news,” Catherine said.

“Yes,” Amelia said. “We’re going trapping with our men!”

“Sounds interesting,” Belle said. “Are you ready for the rough travel and sleeping outside?”

“They think it’s an adventure,” Samuel said. “We won’t go too far north, and we can stop at forts along the way.”

“Our men like to trap beaver before the hard winter blasts into the north territories,” Catherine said. “We’ll be home in late autumn.” Her big frame wiggled with anticipation.

“Speaking of home,” Belle said, “have you settled in all right?”

“We have,” Benjamin said. “The four of us in our cabin’s working out, but Samuel and I plan to build a second cabin next summer.”

“They’re not used to being crowded,” Amelia said. “It’s been just the two of them for a lot of years. Having women around brings changes.”

“Amen to that,” Benjamin said.

“Worth it.” Samuel gave Catherine a big wink. “Ladies, we need to load up. Wild game’s waiting.”

When they left that afternoon, Belle counted six of her friends were moving north. She tried not to let loneliness intrude by sewing pieces together for the quilt she had started earlier.

The heat of summer woke Belle one morning, with humidity making the air thick. Before she could dress and go downstairs, pounding hooves drew her to the window. A buckboard and hay wagon, loaded with a trunk and furniture, raced to the lawn.

“Whoa! Whoa, boys!” The driver in the first wagon brought his horses to a halt. A woman slowed her team, parking behind him.

Belle threw a dressing gown over her shoulders and buttoned it, covering the thin chemise she had slept in. Thoughts of the day the Campbell family drove in after being burned out crowded her memory.

“Sorry for the intrusion,” Mrs. Strong,” the man said. “I’m Reynolds and this is my wife. We came to warn you.”

“And to see the Campbells,” the woman said.

Belle leaned out the window. “Warn me of what, Mr. Reynolds?”

“Indians burned our place. Surprised us just before daylight.” He stopped to wipe his brow and catch his breath. “Said to grab what we could, but they didn’t wait. They brought torches and set everything ablaze. We fought to get this much out.”

“Had to give up on everything else,” his wife said. Tears had left crooked stains on her smoke-blackened cheeks.

“Can’t understand it,” he said. “They didn’t kill our cows or burn the crops in the field.”

“Unless they did that after we left,” his wife said.

“Come in and have something cool to drink while we cook breakfast,” Belle said. “The staff will see to your horses and bring George and Margaret to see you.”

During the meal, Reynolds and George discussed their losses. Mrs. Reynolds and Margaret comforted each other, recalled their fears, and talked about the wildness of the land they had chosen to live in.

“I had twenty acres in corn and close to a hundred under fence,” Reynolds said.

“I had twice that much under fence,” George said, “not counting another ten I’d cleared. Crops and garden took up another thirty-five.”

“They burned our home,” Margaret said, “and everything in it we couldn’t snatch out of the flames.” Tears filled her eyes.

“I understand the Indians,” Belle said, “go way up north to their summer homes. I’m sure most of them have already gone. What did your attackers look like?”

“All Indians look alike to me,” Reynolds said.

“Except for one,” his wife said. “That big one. Tall and ugly.”

“I know him,” Margaret said. “If he’s the same one that burned us out. Did he have a strange horse blanket?”

“Yup,” Reynolds said. “Dirty, it was, but I could still see some red on it.”

“Red hearts, if I remember right,” Margaret said.

Belle felt like a winter icicle had melted and dripped down her spine. Could it be my hearts and flowers quilt that Laughing Maiden said was a bad omen? Was it Angry Wolf?

“I can’t talk about it anymore,” Mrs. Reynolds said. “Glad we hadn’t gone back east to bring our children out here.” She started crying.

Belle cleared her throat. “Is there anything we can do? Any law we can contact?”

“Nothing and none,” Reynolds said.

“On occasion,” George said, “a ranging company of about ten men provide some relief from the Comanche and Tonkawa when they raid, but we’ve never seen these armed men. Guess they don’t range too far from Austin’s Colony.”

This is terrible. Men get shot, and good people get burned out. Why did we choose to live here?

Johnathan came skipping in, and Belle let him say his greetings before she led him to the breakfast room. She didn’t want him to hear such bad news, and his cheerfulness seemed out of place in front of the suffering families. After she helped him fill his plate, she left him to keep some of the staff entertained with the nursery rhymes he had memorized.

When she returned to the guests in her dining room, she detected a change in the atmosphere. While their mood had shown fear and loss earlier, it now conveyed grimness. They wore determined looks on their faces. Nothing could have prepared her for George’s statement.