9

Two weeks later, Brandon reported to Major Armstrong. It felt strange to wear his civilian clothes in the office of his former commander. As he watched Armstrong unbutton his coat and discard it across the back of his chair, however, Brandon smiled.

“You’re out of uniform, Major.”

Justin looked at him and scowled. “They’re lucky I’m wearing trousers in this heat. I long for cooler weather.”

“Or at least drier weather would be nice. Then the heat wouldn’t feel so bad.” Brandon handed his friend a two-page report. “I have managed to get quite close to the Marquardt family. Malcolm Lowe is engaged to the younger daughter, Carissa Marquardt, and I have asked to call on Carissa’s sister, Laura.”

Justin grinned. “Leave it to you to sacrifice in such a manner.”

Brandon felt a moment of hesitation, but then continued. “I genuinely find her company appealing.”

“So you didn’t have to sacrifice,” Justin said, laughing.

The way Justin laughed and commented made Brandon feel uncomfortable. He’d already worried that Laura would learn of his investigation of Malcolm Lowe and presume that Brandon had only come calling in order to learn about her sister’s beau. Now it seemed Justin felt the same way.

“The two matters are completely separate issues,” Brandon assured him.

Justin sobered. “I know you to be an honorable man, Brandon. I’m sorry if my jest offended.” He took a seat and eyed Brandon quite seriously. “I hope you’ll forgive me for making light of this situation.”

“It’s just that I’m already concerned that when the truth is exposed, Laura will think I only asked to call on her in order to spy. I assure you that was not my intention. I find that although our acquaintance has been brief . . . I truly care for Laura Marquardt.”

“So you love her?” Justin asked in surprise.

Brandon nodded. “I believe I do.”

Justin laughed and took up the papers. “Good. Perhaps that will encourage you to remain in Texas rather than leave for the cold and distant north.”

Brandon smiled. “Perhaps.”

“So is this all you have?” Justin asked, looking at the written report Brandon had furnished.

“Yes. I have observed Mr. Lowe meeting with several former Confederate soldiers, as well as a man who is known to run the Confederate supporting newspaper, The Ranchero. I haven’t been able to learn what they are planning, but it would seem they support some type of conspiracy.”

“Conspiracies seem to abound with these Southerners. Look at what is spilling out from the investigation of the president’s assassination. It seems every day we learn of new participants. John Wilkes Booth was only one of many who wanted to see Lincoln dead.”

“Hatred is a strong unifier, and from what I can tell with Mr. Lowe and his friends, their hatred is what compels them to move forward from defeat. Lowe is not shy about sharing his views, although he does appear to temper his comments when around his fiancée’s parents. When he’s with his friends he has no such control—at least that’s what I’ve observed those times I’ve been able to get close enough to overhear.”

“It will be that hatred that causes them to make mistakes, and when they do, you must be there to thwart their plans. Pity we can’t get them to discuss and confess to the murders from last May. That alone would put an end once and for all to whatever they are planning.”

“It would be useful if we could find someone who could participate in their meetings—someone who might be allowed in as a conspirator. Do we have any Texans who spied on the South for us? A man who wasn’t well-known to anyone as a Northern supporter?”

“It would be worth checking into,” Justin agreed. “If I can find such a man, however, can you arrange to get him involved with Lowe?”

“I’m sure we can figure something out.” Brandon tried to imagine how this might all come together. “For now, I will continue to learn what I can. If you can find someone to help us, someone we can trust, I believe the rest will fall in order. It seems to me that Lowe and his friends are desperate for support. To have former Confederates come to them for companionship would be natural. Where it goes from there will be up to Lowe and his friends.”

“I agree.” Justin leaned back in his chair. “I’ve had word from Susannah. She’s quite excited about moving out here. I still think it would be mighty fine if you were to buy some land near mine.”

“And where exactly is your ranch to be located?”

Justin pulled out a map and unrolled it. Placing a couple of books on one end of the map, he held the other end down with his left hand. Pointing to a place just west of Dallas, he looked up and grinned. “Right here. I happen to know that there is an available homestead about two miles from mine. I know you haven’t seen it, but I can vouch for it. There’s a creek that runs through it, watering holes for livestock, and a stretch of trees. Otherwise it’s good grazing land.”

“What about a house?”

“Well, that leaves something to be desired. The folks didn’t get around to really proving up due to the war. I’m telling you, though, the property is prime. You’d be a fool to let it get away. Homesteading is the way to go, and you could no doubt prove it up soon enough and build a nice house for you and your gal.”

Brandon looked at the map a moment longer. “I’ll think on it. I’m still not convinced about remaining in Texas. My folks are expecting me to return to Indiana.”

“They won’t be the first parents to suffer disappointment,” Justin countered. “Besides, you just might interest them in moving to Texas. We could use another good preacher. General Russell says nobody can preach hellfire and damnation like your pa.”

Laughing, Brandon got to his feet. “He’s got that right. I’ll pray on it, Justin. Rest assured that I’m open to whatever direction God wants to take me. I just need to know for sure that it’s God’s leading and not my own.”

Brandon left his friend’s office and headed toward the boardinghouse where he’d taken up residence. He wasn’t but a few yards down the street, however, when he came face-to-face with two of his former men.

“Cap’n,” the first man said, coming to attention.

“Not any longer,” Brandon countered. “How are you, Simon . . . Claypas?”

The two men smiled. “We be fine, Cap’n,” Claypas answered. “We was wishin’ you were still with us.”

“Sometimes I wish that, as well.” A thought came to him as he remembered Laura’s desire to teach reading to the blacks. “I have a question for you two, if you don’t mind.”

“No, suh,” Claypas said.

“I have a friend who is interested in starting a school for former slaves. She wants to teach reading and writing. Would former slaves be willing to be taught by a white woman?”

The two men exchanged a glance before Claypas replied. “Womenfolk and children might. I reckon it would figure on the cost. Colored folks ain’t gonna have extra money to learn to read and write.”

“Matters, too, on how far away they’d have to go to get to this schoolin’,” Simon threw in. “But I’m thinkin’ folks would go to jest about any lengths to educate themselves.”

Brandon nodded. “Education is going to be essential in helping former slaves get ahead. Without the ability to read and write, they will be forced to take on the menial jobs they had while in bondage. I hope you’ll remember that.”

“You ain’t sayin’ nothing we don’t know, Cap’n,” Claypas said. “Problem is, most white folks don’t feel the same way.”

“Shore don’t,” Simon agreed.

Brandon knew what they said was true. “Perhaps my friend can help things change.” He knew they needed to get on with their patrol. “I’d best let you get back to your duties. It’s good to see you again, men.”

“Good seein’ you, too, Cap’n.” Simon replied and Claypas nodded in agreement.

Brandon watched the two men move off down the street. They were good men. He’d known them to be quick learners. Even so, what would the future hold for them? Where would they be accepted and given a fair chance? Like Claypas said, most white people wanted no part in associating with the blacks for anything other than free labor.

Heaving a sigh, Brandon moved out. In so many ways, he thought, this war will go on for a great many years to come.

Once their mother departed the breakfast table, Laura and Carissa were left alone. Laura figured it was a perfect opportunity to speak to Carissa about Malcolm. The memory of his appearing to sneak around and slip down the alleyway still haunted her.

Laura reached for a piece of melon. “Is Malcolm enjoying his work at the flour mill?”

Carissa looked up in surprise. “Goodness, how would I know?”

“Don’t you ever discuss his work?”

“Never. I have no reason to. In fact, nothing is further from my mind.” Carissa spread butter on a biscuit. “Planning this wedding is taking all of my time.”

“Still, it is important for a wife to understand her husband’s livelihood to a certain degree. I just thought perhaps you knew if he was enjoying his work.”

“He seems happy enough,” Carissa replied and took a bite of the biscuit.

Laura shrugged and sliced into the melon. “I saw him in town a while back when Mother and I were shopping. There were several men with him and they seemed to be . . . well . . . rather focused on something.”

“No doubt they were,” Carissa said, still not at all interested. “Laura, do you think I should wear my hair in curls for the wedding?”

“I suppose you could.” Laura immediately went back to her questions regarding Malcolm. “So it doesn’t concern you that when Malcolm should have been working at the mill, he was in fact elsewhere?”

Carissa put the biscuit down and shook her head. “I swear you should have been born a boy. You worry about the silliest things. Men will be men and do whatever interests them. I have no desire to put myself in the middle of that. Malcolm has friends and dealings that do not interest or involve me. You would do better to put such thoughts aside and be . . . well, be more feminine.”

“I hardly see this as an issue of femininity,” Laura countered in offense. “I just thought you’d want to know that your husband-to-be appeared to be up to no good.”

“Oh, pshaw. How would you know what he was up to—whether good or bad? You simply saw him in town with his friends. There’s no harm to that. Perhaps you are jealous.”

“Jealous?”

Carissa gave her a sympathetic gaze. “Yes. I know this is hard on you. I know you expected to marry first. Even so, you have Captain Reid now. If you will conduct yourself properly, you might soon receive your own proposal. Then you won’t have to be jealous of my plans.”

“I don’t have any plans for proposals at this time,” Laura said, shaking her head. “You misjudge me.”

Carissa pushed back her plate. “I don’t think so. I think you are just out of sorts, sister. From what I understand, there have already been many suitors who have called to pay you court and now there’s Brandon. You needn’t fear being a spinster for long.”

Laura rolled her eyes. “This is impossible. I’m not concerned about being a spinster. I’m concerned for your welfare. If your fiancé is up to no good, you should know that.”

“I’m only a woman and can hardly judge whether his actions are good or bad. Now, let’s put this unpleasant topic behind us. I want to talk about the wedding.” She smiled and got to her feet. “Come. I think we should have Carlita work with our hair and see what style would best suit.”

“I haven’t yet finished my breakfast,” Laura said, feeling a great sense of frustration. “You go ahead. I know that’s all you care about.”

Carissa gave a pout. “It isn’t all that I care about. But this is my wedding. I’ve dreamed of it my entire life. You could at least pretend to be happy for me.”

Her words brought immediate guilt to Laura’s heart. Abandoning her food, Laura went to Carissa and took hold of her hands. “I am happy for you. I’m also quite worried. You and Malcolm haven’t known each other very long. I simply want you to be certain that this is the plan God has for you.”

Carissa’s expression lightened. “I say my prayers same as you, so it must be God’s will.” She gave Laura’s hands a squeeze. “Now, please come with me and tell me what style will look best with my veil. I think curls will be the most charming.”

Malcolm Lowe inspected the barrels with great interest. Black powder from Mexico hadn’t been easy to secure, but it was slowly trickling in. His men had been able to smuggle a few barrels in over the last couple of weeks, but he knew they would need a great deal more if they were to accomplish all that they wanted.

“How soon can we get another load?”

One of the men standing nearby shrugged. “Anything can be had for enough money.”

Malcolm nodded. “Then we shall have to work to raise funds.” He looked at another man. “Do you have any ideas?”

“There are several families in and around the area who supported the Union. They’ve managed to reclaim their wealth after hiding it in the North or elsewhere. I say we form a plan to steal and sell what we can get.”

Malcolm considered this for a moment. “If we work it right, we can have the blacks do it for us. There are a number of the black soldiers who are happy to help for a few coins. I think we could arrange for their assistance, and in turn, all of the blame would fall upon them if they were to be caught.”

“We can move the stuff to New Orleans, where it would be easier to sell,” another man chimed in. “My uncle could help us with that.”

“It might even be possible to trade the goods in Mexico,” Malcolm suggested. “Either way, it’s probably our best chance.”

“So when do you think we’ll have enough gunpowder set aside?” someone asked.

Malcolm looked at the ledger he’d been keeping. “If I have my way about it, we’ll collect enough to do the job by Thanksgiving. And how better to celebrate that ridiculous Northern-imposed holiday? Lincoln might be dead, but I weary at the way his mistakes keep burdening us.” Several of the men grunted in agreement. “Southern folks don’t need a Yankee holiday to celebrate being thankful.”

Putting the ledger aside, Malcolm smiled. “Still, we will overcome. As you know, I’m to be married in a couple of weeks. The Marquardts have proven to be very useful in providing information, and now that my fiancée’s sister is being called upon by a former Union captain, I believe I shall have even greater chances to gather information. Sometimes the most innocent comment over dinner can be helpful.

“What’s most important, however, is that we not waiver from our plans. We must press forward, and we must do what we can to teach the Yankees a lesson they won’t soon forget.”

“I’m all for that,” one of the men said. “It’s about time they pay for what they did to us.”

Malcolm smiled. “As far as I’m concerned, that very thought is worth any amount of sacrifice or bloodshed.”