From the beginning, Ezra ate as much as Al could put on the table before heading to school every morning. Ella attached herself to Mama Zoé, following her every step.
“That baby girl needs tight loving,” Mama Zoé insisted when she moved Ella into her quarters. Within days she announced, “It’s going to take time for this child to feel safe. We’ll do lessons together every day. Let school wait until after Christmas.”
By mid-December, Ella and Ezra had settled down enough that Al and Hébert planned another trip to Columbus to purchase a horse before Al’s new carriage arrived. Regina wanted Ezra to stay with her while the men were gone. As soon as the wagon left the barn, Hébert crawled over the seat and burrowed deep inside his bedroll. Al breathed in the silence, the chill against his face. The trees, stripped bare of all covering, formed black silhouettes stretching into the gray light. The field grasses, stubby after a heavy frost, offered a playground for jackrabbits and field mice. He pulled his scarf up, leaving only his eyes exposed beneath the brim of his hat. As it did every minute he slowed down, his mind wandered to Amelia. He intended to get to Indianola. He remembered her saying they would be connected each time a ship brought Mexican silver to the mint in New Orleans because wagons loaded with the silver passed by the front door of her Indianola store. And now, they were connected again by the same storm winds that tore up her town and tried to tear him apart. The storm and the long hours laid up while his body healed had brought her back to him. Her legs pressed across him in sleep, her braids loosened and soft against his cheek. If he reached Indianola and found her content, he’d slip away. But he had to know.
Late on the second day, the road rose to a high bluff overlooking trees edging the Colorado River. The roof garden on the old three-story Robson’s Castle served as the first evidence of Columbus. Hébert held the reins tight to slow the mules’ descent toward the river. The walls of the concrete castle appeared through the trees. Charles and Samantha bragged about their friendship with Robert Robson, the Scotsman who built the showplace. For thirty years he hosted champagne dinners, card parties, and dances. Guests from as far away as the coast came to the lavish affairs. Now it stood abandoned, only mud-clogged remnants of its moat and drawbridge survived. River flooding had chewed away the foundation of the massive structure. The empty site made Al shudder.
The town, which had grown into a racing mecca, was also known for gambling, saloons, and fights. Al found the same boarding house near the square where he and Toby had stayed. After a meal of fried beef and potatoes, both men, despite shouts coming from nearby saloons, fell asleep before darkness blanketed the town.
The sun glinted off the early-morning frost making the leaves sparkle on the live oaks edging the drive to the Beacon Hill Blood Stock Farm. The boss in denim pants, boots, and a cowboy hat pulled low over his face opened doors into a barn lined with rows of horse stalls. His eyes slid past Hébert, and then he nodded at Al. “I remember you. You brought your son with you the last time.”
They followed him into the barn where stable hands were mucking out the stalls. “We’ve got this nine-year-old thoroughbred, edgy until he gets to know you. He’s had too many injuries to keep racing, but he’ll be as good as that mare you got before.”
Hébert moved into the stall, rubbed the reddish-brown neck, his hands slipping down to the withers, his voice the same cooing murmur as Mama Zoé’s. He shook his head. “We got kids around. This one’s too tense.”
“Let’s see what else you have.” Al turned to leave the stall.
“Well, look here,” the boss sneered. “You going to let your man make the call?”
“He’s not my man. He’s my nephew.” The words, like a fist smashing into a filthy mouth, erupted before Al even knew they were coming. He relaxed under Hébert’s grip on his shoulder. His breathing eased, and he steadied his voice. “But that doesn’t matter a damn bit. He knows horses.”
The startled man pulled off his hat, reached out to shake Al’s hand. “No offense. No offense. Let me show you a fine little four-year-old mare. Already buggy broke. She’s gentle as a pup with kids.”
They drove in silence out through the lane of trees, the little mare named Sunshine prancing easily behind the wagon.
“What got into you back there?” Hébert held the reins lightly and stared straight ahead.
“It just came out. It’s like a volcano building up in me. Something about that bastard calling you ‘my man’ set it off.”
“Well, I don’t want you to repeat it. I like things the way they’ve always been. I’m the farm manager.”
Al stared at the handsome man whose sun-weathered skin was as white as his. Except that Hébert cut his curly hair close to his head like a colored man’s and he wore a farmhand’s loose blouse tucked inside worn work pants. The set jaw and narrowing eyes came straight from Charles when he was mad as hell. “You’re my blood as sure as you’re sitting there. What makes you deny that?”
“My mama. It’s that simple. If she wanted to claim my father, she would have said it. She’s let it lay all these years. I’m willing to leave it alone.”
“I can’t believe my brother died without freeing either of you. Samantha knew. She hated Mama Zoé, yet she kept her right there in the big house serving and arranging her fine entertainment.”
“That’s exactly why she kept Mama.” Hébert’s eyes flashed with an instant of hate that Al had never seen before. “She wanted to keep Mama her slave. I don’t believe Mama wants any connection with Samantha or Charles.” He spat the names like a wad of bile. “Mama chooses to remember that she is a French descendant of the Metoyer family of the Isle Brevelle Colony in Natchitoches Parish Louisiana. And I do as well.”
Al heard the pride, the ringing affirmation of specialness that allowed men to lift their heads and look into the eyes of every man. “From now on I’ll keep my mouth shut.”
“I’d appreciate it.”
Al tucked his wool scarf across his face to deflect the sharpness of the wind and the sting of Hébert’s words. He had felt relieved when he blurted the revelation of Hébert’s heritage. It was like lifting a weight. He needed to claim Hébert. He needed to assuage his family’s guilt. But Hébert’s eyes made it clear. He and his mama didn’t need to claim the Waters family.
When they pulled into Brenham and stopped at the store, Wally came out on the front porch, his hands on both hips. “I just told a man from Indianola that you wouldn’t be back until tomorrow.”
“Indianola? Are you sure?” Al’s mouth went dry as paste. “Where is he? What did he want?”
“He saw your for-sale sign. He’s a teamster. Got a wagon as long as this side of the square. Says he’s trying to get his family moved to higher ground.” Wally slapped the side of his head. “Almost forgot. Your buggy came in on this morning’s train. It’s at the depot.”
Hébert frowned at Al. “What’s all this about Indianola? You know someone there?”
Al shook his head. “Not anymore. But, I want to catch that man. Will you take the wagon on home? I’ll come along with the new carriage.”
The little black buggy was attracting a clamor of people gathered to admire it. They ran their hands over its four big wheels and sat on the leather-covered horsehair seat. Al had to raise and lower the bonnet several times to demonstrate how handy it would be in the rain. Despite the crowd, Sunshine showed no nervousness at all the attention. She didn’t flinch at being hitched between the carriage’s long black shafts.
“Looks like you’ll have a sweeter ride with this little mare.” Hébert stroked her neck and withers. “She’s showing a better nature than Miss Millie.”
Al watched Hébert head the team toward home. Then he climbed into his new buggy and turned his attention to finding that teamster from Indianola.
He had no trouble spotting the man. He sat atop a freight wagon behind four enormous mules, powerful enough to haul a load of rocks. His leathered face blended into faded red whiskers, and his hair stuck out from under a greasy felt hat. When Al pulled beside the wagon, he looked up into a welcoming grin.
“I figure you’re the man with the 600 acres. I know because everyone I’ve met tells me your buggy from New Orleans just came in this morning. I saw it down at the depot. My name’s Eldred Erchel Stone. Everyone calls me Eagle.”
Al liked him immediately. “That’s me selling the land. I’m Albert Waters. Everyone calls me Al.”
“I’m looking to have a place where I can move my family.” He grinned and shrugged shoulders encased in a rough work coat. “Truth is, I’m buying the land. Then, I’ve got to convince my wife to give up the Stein House in Indianola and move to the country.”
“Stein House?” The name shot through Al like a blow to the belly. Stein. Amelia Stein. Could there be another name like Stein in Indianola?
“It’s a boarding house. My wife has run it for her brother-in-law for over twenty years. He got killed in that big storm. I’m hoping with him gone; she’ll not feel obliged to stay. I’ve been trying to convince her to move away from the coast. The folks in town told me you got beat up by that big blow.”
“Why don’t you come to my store, and we can talk.” Al tried to keep his voice level, avoid showing the churning fear that gripped him.
“I’ll be honest with you. I’d like to see what you got. I have cash. I want to get it done and get on back home. I’ve been on a hauling job with my teamsters.”
“Did the storm wipe out your wife’s whole family?” Al gripped the metal arm on the seat.
“Oh, no. My wife’s sister stayed at the boarding house during the storm. She’s the only one Helga has to help her. The Negro man got killed who’d worked for her for years.”
Al felt like crying with relief. “Why don’t you follow me out to my place? It’s seven miles. Between here and Chappell Hill.”
“You lead the way.”
Al’s mind raced. Amelia had talked about her sister Helga in Germany. She must have come to Indianola. Why would Dr. Stein own a boarding house? The north wind picked up, stung his eyes and whipped into the front of his coat. In his haste to get the buggy and to find Eagle Stone, he’d forgotten his scarf and gloves. He looked at his little mare prancing along at a brisk pace, and he decided that after the first of the year, Sunshine was going to take him and the handsome buggy to Indianola.
The sun had dipped low when they pulled into the corral behind the mansion.
While Eagle unhitched his mules, his eyes trailed over the big house and barn. Finally, he said, “I hope you’re not planning on that monster house being part of the deal.”
Al laughed. “It’s a monster all right. No, if you want a house, mine is that one across the road. I can live in the big one for a while.”
“The land around here looks good. I picked Washington County for a homesite before the war. Until you got the train through here, I hauled freight between Austin and Houston.”
While Al made coffee and fried some bacon and a dozen eggs, Eagle walked around the house and out to the garden.
“Can you recommend someone to run the place? I’ll be coming back and forth. Hope I can bring my wife and maybe her sister to see it. They’ll love these cottonwoods. There’re only a few trees around the boarding house, scrawny things that Helga and Amelia planted years ago.”
Amelia. Al gripped the edge of the table. Eagle Stone is Amelia’s brother-in-law. He may bring her up to see this place. “I’d like you to meet Hébert. He’s the manager. He organized a co-operative for the land-owners around here. They rotate to all the farms helping each other with the crops. It’s been a good deal for all of us. I imagine you could hire him. We gin our own cotton, haul it into Brenham.”
Al was grateful that Ezra stayed one more night at Regina’s. He showed Eagle what he’d need for a bath and then fell on his bed still in the clothes he left home wearing four days before. “Twenty-five years, Amelia. Do you even remember me?” Al mumbled just before he fell into exhausted sleep.
The next morning, Hébert agreed to continue supervising the acreage and led them on a tour. “Until the drought this year we counted on an acre yielding a thousand pounds of cotton, twenty-five to fifty bushels of corn, and ten to thirty pounds of wheat.”
They came to a rise in the pasture, and Al stretched his arm toward the horizon squared in rows of bois d’arc branches. “When my brother bought this place, the fields were already fenced with either those shrubs or white rose bushes. I’ve not seen a reason to change it.” They rode to the edge of the property, which ran down to New Year’s Creek.
When Eagle went to the house for his gear, Hébert said, “Twenty-five dollars an acre is a mighty generous price, especially with your house thrown in.”
Al nodded and did not admit that he would have given the land to Eagle if it meant Amelia might come for a visit.
They agreed that Eagle would return after the survey to sign all the papers. “I’ll stop at your store for supplies. I saw a bolt of pretty green material I want to take to Helga. And some colored Christmas balls for our tree.”
Al wanted to tell him to take Amelia the blue voile that would cling softly to her skin. He watched the big wagon disappear beyond the pecan orchard and knew that when Eagle returned, he was going to follow him back to Indianola.