11

Laura could hardly believe that the men were fighting again. This time she’d seen the attack and knew that Brandon had little to do with it. She hurried to her father’s side and explained.

“You must put a stop to this,” she told him. “Malcolm’s friends are not fighting fair. I saw them just attack Brandon.”

“Stay here,” he said. “I’ll return shortly.” He hurried into the house, and Laura turned her attention back to the fight. The men had fought their way out of the lighted circle where the torches were, and now she couldn’t see how Brandon was faring. When the sound of a shotgun blast ripped through the air, she couldn’t suppress a scream.

The entire world seemed to stop in that moment, but it was her father’s actions that had brought the fight to a stop.

“Gentlemen, this is completely uncalled for. My daughter’s wedding is no place to start another war. I believe we have concluded our celebration, and I would appreciate it if you would leave now.”

Laura caught her breath in surprise. It was the height of rudeness for a host to make such a declaration.

“He’s a Yankee,” one man called, then followed his accusation with a string of curses. “He ain’t got enough sense to know when it’s time to go back to his own people.”

“We’re all one people now,” Stanley Marquardt declared. “We’re Americans. This war put us at odds for too long as it is. If you will condemn him, will you also condemn me? Will you condemn James Sonderson and his family, as well as the others who stood in support of our country?”

“They stood in support of freein’ the darkies,” another man said, spitting on the ground as if the words had left a bad taste in his mouth. “The Yankees ruined my folks’ rice plantation. You ain’t gonna see me offering up much sympathy for a Yankee in the South. I figure he gets what he deserves.”

“Which in my house and at my affairs is respect.” Father turned to Malcolm. “I thought you assured me this wouldn’t be a problem.”

Malcolm shrugged. “It wouldn’t have escalated if Captain Reid hadn’t been so touchy.”

“Nevertheless, your comrades have stepped outside the bounds of decent society and they must go.”

Looking to his friends, Malcolm nodded. “You heard my father-in-law, boys.”

One by one the guests began to leave. Carissa was beside herself, but Malcolm turned to calm her. “Don’t fret, darlin’,” he said as Laura came to her sister’s side. “The boys were just havin’ a little fun.”

“Strange fun, if you ask me,” Laura muttered. She took hold of her sister’s arm. “Are you all right?”

Malcolm pulled Carissa toward him. “She’s my responsibility now, and she’s just fine.”

Laura met his possessive expression and wanted to say something flippant. How she managed to hold her tongue, she’d never know. But instead of causing a scene, she released her hold and walked away. Only time would tell if her feelings of concern were rational.

Brandon was making his way to where the groom was readying his mount when Laura finally caught up to him. She could see he looked no worse for the wear. “Are you all right?” she asked.

“I’m fine. I am sorry about that. It truly wasn’t my intention to fight.” He smiled at her. “I hope your sister won’t hold it against me.”

“Carissa will soon forget all about it,” Laura said, not entirely sure that was true. “I just wanted to assure myself that you were unharmed.”

“I’m fine.”

The Marquardts’ groom brought Brandon’s horse. Brandon thanked the man and mounted quickly. Smiling down at her, he asked, “Will I see you in church tomorrow?”

“Yes. I’m sure to be there.”

“Would you allow me to sit with you and your family?”

To ask such a thing was to make a definite public statement that they were a couple. Laura wanted to clap her hands and squeal with delight. There was still enough little girl inside her that she was sorely tempted to throw caution to the wind and do exactly that. Instead, she nodded most solemnly.

“I . . . would be honored.”

He grinned, seeming to understand her emotions. “Until tomorrow then.”

She waited until he had made his way from their drive and down the street a bit before heading back to the house. Laura wandered to the back, where their regular servants, along with a dozen specially hired laborers, worked to clean up the remnants of the party. Some of the well-wishers were gathered to one side of the yard speaking with her parents, while others were bidding Malcolm and Carissa farewell as they climbed into a borrowed buggy.

Laura began gathering several china plates to assist in the cleanup. She longed to soak in the tub and spied Carlita near the back door. Taking the dishes, she went to the maid. “Would you please take these and then sneak away to prepare me a bath?”

Carlita smiled. “Sí. I already have water heating. You wish for me to put in the lavender or the rose salts?”

Just the thought of such luxury caused Laura to sigh. “The rose, I think. Thank you. I’ll be along shortly.”

Carlita nodded and hurried into the house with the plates. No doubt Mother would need the maid’s attention as soon as all of their guests had departed. By that time, Laura would be in the tub with dreams of having danced all evening with Brandon.

She went again to the main table and began gathering some of the empty platters. The food had been exquisite, with a variety of shrimp and other seafood, as well as a lovely selection of fruits, vegetables, and cakes. Most of the plates held nothing more than crumbs, but here and there a few pieces were left behind as evidence of all that they’d enjoyed.

“What are you doing?”

Laura looked up to find her mother watching from the end of the reception table. “I’m just helping to clear the dishes.”

“That’s why we hired servants,” her mother said, sounding almost offended. “Put those down at once. Someone might see you.”

Placing the dishes on the table, Laura looked at her mother in the glow of torchlight. “Really, Mother, I was only attempting to ease the burden. Do you never feel compelled to assist?”

“That’s utter nonsense. You have been brought up to be a lady—to have servants to do the menial tasks. There’s no need for us to work. Your father is quite capable of hiring it done.”

Laura knew there was no sense in arguing with her mother. “Very well. I shall retire then. Good night.” She came to her mother and kissed her cheek. “Carlita is already drawing my bath.”

“Good night.” She started to go, then turned back. “Oh, and Laura, send Carlita to my room when she’s completed your bath.”

“I will, Mother.”

Slipping upstairs, Laura thought again of the conversation she’d overheard earlier in the evening. The fight had caused her to completely forget until that moment. She frowned, wishing she’d remembered to tell Brandon about it. Whatever Malcolm was up to, it wasn’t going to bode well for Brandon’s Yankee friends. Perhaps not even for Brandon himself, now that he’d clearly made enemies of Malcolm’s comrades.

“I can tell him in the morning,” she reasoned. That should be soon enough.

To her surprise and disappointment, Brandon was nowhere to be found the next day. He didn’t show up at church, and he sent no word to the house to explain. Laura tried not to fret, but she found his absence most unusual. He had been quite faithful to attend services each Sunday. What might have kept him from coming, especially since he had planned to sit with her family?

After dinner Mother made her way upstairs to nap, while Laura’s father went into his study to read. Laura paced the rooms of their home, wishing she could put her mind at ease. She couldn’t help but worry that perhaps some of Malcolm’s friends had waylaid Brandon the night before. After all, some of them had left well before he had. They could have set a trap for him.

She tried to read a book for a time, then went to the piano and played several sonatas before giving that up, as well. Her mind simply wasn’t able to think on anything but Brandon’s welfare.

“I rather liked that last song,” her father told her as he joined her in the music room. “Would you mind playing it again?”

“Of course not, Father.” She picked up the music for Beethoven’s “Quasi Una Fantasia” and began to play. Her piano teacher had told her that most people referred to the song by its unofficial title, “Moonlight Sonata,” and that it had been written for one of Beethoven’s loves. She found the haunting melody captured her mood nicely.

Upon concluding, her father smiled. “Thank you. It soothes the soul, does it not?”

Laura nodded. “I find it to be so.”

“You have seemed rather lost today,” he said, offering her a compassionate gaze. “I suppose you miss your sister. I know I do. I was thinking how quiet the house is without her. I thought it in poor taste that they did not appear in church today.”

“Carissa follows her own rules of etiquette. No doubt she presumed folks would understand. Anyway, she does have a way of bringing excitement to the day and I agree, the house is silent without her,” Laura admitted. She sighed, thinking of what she’d overheard Malcolm say. Should she say something to her father? Would he be able to do anything, or would he simply put the matter aside and forbid her to tell anyone else?

“Your young man seems quite devoted and you seem happy with his attention.”

Her father’s comment caused Laura to smile. “I like him very much, Father. He is quite . . . honorable and attentive.”

Father leaned back in his chair. “I have found him to be so myself. He has been forthcoming with his views and his upbringing. Did he tell you that his family was active with the Underground Railroad?”

Laura nodded and came to her father’s side. She pulled a chair close and sat very nearly directly in front of him. “Yes. He told me so many stories of their work. I found it all very exciting.”

“It was risky, certainly,” her father replied. “Perhaps not entirely prudent.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, the legalities for one thing. It could have cost them their livelihood—even their lives.”

“But you yourself said that slavery was wrong, Father. They were merely trying to offer help to those slaves who had managed to escape.”

“I agree, slavery was an abomination and I am glad to see its demise, although I’m still not convinced that an instantaneous freeing was the answer. It might have served the slaves better had there been a mandate for education first.”

“I’m glad you said that.” Laura tried to choose her words carefully. “I’ve been thinking about what I’d like to do with my life, Father. I want to start a school for the former slaves and their children. I want to teach them to read and write so that they can better themselves.”

Her father’s shocked expression was not at all what she had expected. “You what?”

Laura held up her hand as if to ward off his concerns. “You have often stated that the former slaves need to be educated. I merely want to assist in that. You know very well I’ve helped Carlita and some of the others to better their English and to read and write it, as well. I would like to do it for the former slaves, in an organized fashion. And I would like to do it . . . for free.”

“Laura, your heart is most tender and I respect your concerns, but for a single white woman of your youth and beauty to take on such an endeavor would surely be disastrous. The damage to your reputation alone would be a severe penalty to pay.”

“But don’t you see, Father?” She leaned forward to take hold of his hand. “I don’t care about such things. My reputation has already suffered because I’m a Unionist in a Southern state. Many of my childhood friends no longer speak to me, and even more of them have left Corpus Christi altogether. You must agree that there are those in our community who hold us in great contempt.”

“I do agree, but to allow you to take on such a task would surely cause problems that none of us wish to bear. I cannot allow you to put yourself in harm’s way.”

Laura frowned and dropped his hand. Getting to her feet, she shook her head. “So we are to simply notice the problem, but do nothing about it?”

“Rest assured, daughter, there will be those who come forward to help. Your heart is good and your motives pure. I greatly admire that about you. You are selfless and loving, but you lack understanding about the consequences. Please understand: I only want to see you safe.”

She thought to debate the subject further, but her father stood and walked from the room. Before she could think of what she wanted to say, he was gone. Laura stared after him, not at all sure what she would do now. Without her father’s support it would be very hard to move ahead with her desires.

Brandon pulled his spyglass from the saddlebag and studied the horizon carefully. He had found a small ridge on which to position his horse for the best view, but even so, he didn’t want to be obvious and was mindful to stay in the shadows of the brush and few trees.

Two men were riding south, just as he’d expected. The night before he’d overheard only the tiniest snippet of information when Malcolm Lowe had instructed the men to leave at first light for Mexico. Apparently there was something they needed in the way of supplies, and Lowe wanted them to go immediately. Brandon figured this might well be the break he needed to finally learn what Lowe and his men were up to.

He put away the spyglass and maneuvered the horse back to the road. The tracks were clear and easy to follow, and so long as the road stayed fairly quiet and untraveled, Brandon figured trailing the men would be easy.

Laura’s image flooded his thoughts. With the growing affection he had for her, it would only be a matter of time before he would have to make some decisions. He had never asked her about the possibility of leaving Texas. Would she oppose the idea or readily accept it? She seemed to like her Southern life well enough, but she’d also appeared eager to hear his stories of Indiana.

“Perhaps she’d welcome a change.” The horse continued plodding along at the even pace Brandon had set, but bobbed his head slightly as if the statement were offered to him.

Brandon thought back on his life prior to the war. He had attended the university in hopes of becoming a teacher or perhaps a preacher like his father. He loved books and learning, but being cooped up inside all day was not to his liking at all. He missed the outdoors and his work on the farm. He found himself longing for open fields and clear skies. The longer he’d attended school, the more it had seemed evident that he couldn’t live a life that required him to be at a desk or even a pulpit.

He’d returned home at the age of twenty for the wedding of one of his two sisters. Both were older and eventually married brothers from Kentucky. They had met when the men had come to Indiana to purchase horses, and their romances had quickly blossomed. Brandon could still remember the moment when he’d arrived from the city and stepped out into the pasture and breathed in the clean air of the country. He knew then and there that he would not return to school, despite the fact that he had only another year to attend.

His father, though disappointed, had understood; similar feelings resonated inside of him and he accepted that his son was no different. It had been the reason Brandon’s father had taken up horse breeding. His church work was of the utmost importance, but he had wanted to maintain a connection with the land.

Brandon could still hear what his father had said that day. “You must heed God’s call, no matter where that leads. Remember, God calls some men to build railroads and others to work in countinghouses. No matter what He has in store for you, Brandon, you would do well to follow it quickly. Delays only have a way of turning into difficult lessons.”

The choice was easy enough to make, but then the difficulties of the world began to creep in. The issue of slavery turned quite ugly, and Brandon’s abolitionist parents were determined to help where they could. When they told Brandon of their desire to hide runaways, he had eagerly agreed to help, as had his sisters and their husbands. Brandon could still remember the first time they’d all met together to arrange their plans. He’d been surprised at the fervent support offered by the Kentucky brothers. They were level-headed, hardworking men, who weren’t afraid to sweat and toil for their living. They despised slavery, and to participate in helping folks out of bondage and into a new life was something they both fully supported.

Brandon had been eager for their plans to work, but when the first runaways showed up at his father’s farm, he had been shocked. Most were underfed and sickly. In many cases, there were signs of severe beatings and lashings that had left hideous scars.

“Why do they run away if they know they will be beaten or chained?” his sister had once asked during a visit.

Their father had countered with a question of his own. “If you were forced to live a life of poverty and imprisonment would you not attempt to flee it? Even if fleeing meant the possibility of your own death?”

Brandon had been deeply moved by that statement. Would he not risk everything he had to live in freedom? When the war started, he knew there was no other choice but to join up and lend a hand. It wasn’t until he learned of the colored troops, however, that he knew this would be the proper place for an abolitionist.

He’d never been sorry for his choices. The men he’d served under and over had been cut from a different kind of cloth. He admired the blacks, as well as the white officers who trained them. There were of course problems and issues that reared up between them, but throughout the war, Brandon had been proud to serve with the men of the Twenty-eighth.

His horse gave a whinny, bringing Brandon’s attention back to the road. They were approaching a small town. It wasn’t much to speak of, but there would be water and food, and apparently the gelding was ready for both. He gave the horse a quick pat.

“I agree, boy. We’ll take a rest. It’s not like they can get all that far without us catching up.”

He pulled the horse to a halt in front of a well-worn building. The sign out front proclaimed Frijoles and Tortillas—All You Can Eat, Twenty-Five Cents. That would serve him well enough, but he needed to care for the horse first. A young boy came running up to him as Brandon dismounted.

“You give me money and I will water your horse,” the boy announced.

“Will you allow him to graze, as well?” Brandon asked, looking around for any sign of the two men he’d been following.

“Sí, he can have grain and hay. My papa will feed him for money.”

The dark-eyed boy looked up with great hope in his expression. “My papa is inside. This is his store.”

“Then let’s go strike a bargain with him. My horse and I are both hungry.”

The boy nodded enthusiastically. Brandon tied off the horse and turned back to the child. “Say, were there two other men who came here, as well? Maybe an hour or so ago?”

Again the child nodded. “They did not pay for their horses. They just wanted beer and food. They were here only very short time.”

Brandon smiled. “No doubt they had to be somewhere important.” He cast a quick glance down the road before turning back to the boy. “Come along. Take me to meet your papa.”