On the day that Jacob Wilson mounted his horse, Biscuit, and rode away from the homeplace where he’d been raised, he had no notion where he was headed. Away was enough for the moment, he thought. Biscuit was a rare horse, a pinto-colored Morgan, one of the horses that they raised or had when there were enough brothers to make it viable. Now, Garrett was the only Wilson brother remaining in Kentucky, and he still raised the horses. He trained them and sold them, still living on the homeplace with Ma. Jacob had been, too, right up until his wife died of childbed fever after bringing a stillborn child into the world.
He considered California because it would be a far distance, maybe enough to leave his grief and troubles behind. For the same reason, he thought about Oregon or Montana. Stories about St. Louis and Saint Jo, both in Missouri, intrigued him, but he shied away from towns if they were very large and both were growing. Heading East had no appeal, so it would be west or south.
After traveling aimlessly for a week, he realized he’d known all along where he was headed – Texas and his brothers. It was true he’d told his mother he meant to go to Texas, but he hadn’t really decided. He had just named a place to relieve her mind.
Now Jacob knew it was where he’d been drawn from the start. Although he hadn’t seen Boone for near ten years, he wanted to see him. They’d been close growing up, always vying to see who could throw a rock the farthest or who could shoot the most squirrels for the cook pot. They’d fussed and feuded but always with affection, and if they needed one another, there was no doubt – the other was there. Young Ezekiel had lit out for Texas at the age of fifteen, and he would now be twenty come March. Moses had been gone almost as long.
It wasn’t until he reached Shreveport, Louisiana, and was about to cross into Texas that it dawned on him that he didn’t know the exact location of the ranch. He knew it was near Laredo, in far southwest Texas, but also somewhere south of San Antonio. Jacob’s plan had been to go straight to the ranch, but now he realized that wasn’t possible, not unless he met up with someone who could provide directions.
He consulted a map, then asked around. Once he had, he headed first for Fort Worth, skirting around Dallas, then trekked south toward San Antonio. By the time he reached that city, he’d been on his journey for a good six weeks. Jacob left Kentucky a week after New Year’s Day, but he’d dawdled. If he’d ridden hard and fast, it could have been less, but he didn’t care.
Jacob had planned to spend no more than a night, maybe two, in San Antonio, but his money dwindled, and so he decided to stop long enough to earn a few dollars. He’d rather not arrive destitute, not when he wasn’t completely sure how he would be received once he made it to the ranch.
In his search for short-term employment, he made the rounds of the livery stables, then the sale barns, and then the mercantile stores. Jacob came across one called Dawson’s Emporium that seemed like a going concern, so he entered. Although it turned out to sell more notions than general merchandise, it was clean, with neat aisles brimming with wares. It was also warm and dry, both inducements since the wind had turned cold. Rain had been falling all day, and Jacob was more than a little damp.
The proprietor, one Phineas Dawson, greeted him and when he asked for work, he gave his name.
“Wilson?” the man said, his face brightening. “You wouldn’t happen to be kin to either Boone or Moses Wilson by any chance?”
“I would,” he said. “That’s two of my brothers.”
“Splendid, splendid,” the man said, transformed. He shook Jacob’s hand with such enthusiasm he might be pumping water and slapped him on the back. “Your brother Boone and I served in the war together, with Liam as well. If it wasn’t for Boone, I’d not have my leg. I got to know Moses last fall when he came courting one of the Baumann gals. Then, of course, I got right in the middle of all that to-do with the German banker when I took her to the ranch because she feared for Moses’ life. Turned out she was right about that, but oh, the results!”
Jacob had no idea what the man spoke about, but he did get two facts – one, this Dawson knew the way to the ranch, and two, Ma must have been spot on when she worried for Moses’ sake.
“I’ve just come from Kentucky,” he told the storekeeper. “I don’t know about any of that. We hadn’t had a letter for a spell.”
As garrulous as a grandmother, as full of gossip as a housewife, Phineas Dawson proceeded to sketch the recent events for Jacob. If what the man said was so, his brother Moses had come to court a young lady from a German family. Not only did they object to his suit, but a German banker named Gunther Hammerschmidt had also been smitten. He was the preferred suitor, but the young woman, Matilde by name, had eyes only for Moses. After he’d gone back to the ranch, she had some premonition or something that he was in mortal danger, that he needed her, and she’d persuaded Dawson to take her on a six-day journey to the ranch.
They’d found Moses near dead, but she’d brought him back from the edge with her love and some remedy, Dawson didn’t know what. The story didn’t end there, however, for with her family’s blessing, the banker set out to bring Mathilde home as his bride. According to Phineas, her mother had a dressmaker sewing a fancy wedding dress and was making plans.
The hitch came when the German found her at the ranch, married to Moses. She had refused to come back to San Antonio. Although her reputation had been in tatters, Hammerschmidt tried to bring her by force. He’d been stopped by Boone as well as Moses, who had come from his sickbed to stop it. Once back in town, Hammerschmidt and this woman’s folks had tried to set the law on the Wilson brothers, but they’d done nothing wrong.
“And they tried to hurt my business with their talk,” Dawson said. “But he’s not a likeable fellow, Gunther, and no one listened. I have more business now than ever.”
Jacob had taken a seat midway through the story, his mind reeling as he imagined the events that had taken place. He’d known Texas was a wild place, but the story sounded more like legend than fact. As he tried to sort it all out, he asked, “So, my brother Moses did recover?”
“He did, he did, and married the girl to boot. And I’ve heard now your brothers, all three of them, are partners in the ranch with Liam.”
“And you know the way to this ranch? That’s where I’m bound, but I’ve no notion where to find it.”
“I do, and I can tell you how to get there.”
His plan to stay in San Antonio and earn some money faded. He had enough to make the remaining six-day journey. Since he was that close to his brothers, Jacob would rather go on than not. If they were part owners of the spread, then surely, they could find work for him.
“I’d like to get headed that way as soon as I can.”
“You’re welcome to bunk at my home if you like. You can have the room where Moses stayed last fall. I’d recommend you wait until the rain stops – it’s likely to rain for a few days straight, and it will make for a miserable ride. Just steer clear of Hammerschmidt and Mattie’s family while you’re here. I doubt they would take kindly to another Wilson.”
Jacob accepted the hospitality. He was saddle weary, and the thought he could sleep in a bed for a night or two was inviting. He never meant to tangle with the banker or anyone else, but when he strolled down to the nearest saloon, not to drink but for a few hands of cards, someone spotted him. Although he’d never thought his resemblance to Moses was that great, he’d been pegged for him, and when he exited the saloon, his pockets lined with cash from a few wins, he’d been jumped.
Two thick-set men jumped him as he stepped into the street. He wasn’t sure if they meant to intimidate him, rob him, or hurt him, but he fought back, which they hadn’t expected. If he’d worn a pistol on his hip the way he saw most men here did, Jacob probably would have used it, but instead, he relied on his fists to best them. He did, but not without gaining a black eye and a bloody nose in the process. As he stood above his attackers, jubilant but more than a little winded, a man dressed in a fine suit strode up.
“How dare you come to San Antonio,” the man said. “I will have you arrested and put under the jail. Have you jilted her so soon? If my men didn’t convince you, then I shall. I’ve already spoken to the sheriff and he will be here momentarily.”
“Mister, I don’t know who you think you’re addressing, but you’ve never met me before this day. I’m Jacob Wilson, late of Perry County, Kentucky. Since you set your thugs on me, I’ll have a word for the sheriff myself. I’m guessing you’re this Hammerschmidt character.”
Gunther’s expression wilted when he realized this wasn’t Moses Wilson. And, when the sheriff, who had no particular fondness for the banker, arrived, he wasn’t pleased to find the German’s hired men had jumped an unarmed man. Still, Hammerschmidt was an important man in the community, so the confrontation ended in a draw, and no one was arrested.
Jacob, with detailed directions and a hand-drawn map, departed the next morning despite the rain and headed toward his brothers. Because of the poor weather, the six days became seven, but he arrived at the ranch before dawn one morning. He stopped the first cowboy he encountered and asked where he could find Boone.
“I’d not rouse him this early,” the hand said. “Not if you don’t want a tongue lashing. But he lives over yonder, on one side of the dog trot cabin, and his brother Moses lives on the other. The other Wilson boy lays his head in the bunkhouse these days, but they’re all partners in the ranch. If you’re looking for work, I’d say go up to the main house and ask Liam Rafferty. He’s the man who founded the place.”
“I’ll take my chances with the Wilsons,” he said. His black eye had faded, but faint bruises remained, and after more than two months in the saddle, Jacob figured he looked like a vagabond.
He tied Biscuit to the nearest corral and walked to the cabins. Both remained dark, not surprising since it had to be a good two hours, maybe more until dawn. Jacob considered pounding on one of the doors but imagined the hullabaloo that would result. Boone did have a bit of temper, and he’d rather not be met with a loaded pistol, so he spread out his bedroll on the porch to wait. Although he hadn’t planned to, he fell asleep.
Jacob roused to daylight, a cool wind, and a crick in his neck. For a moment, he forgot where he was and why he was there. He sat up, and a little girl stood, staring at him with Boone’s eyes.
“Jemima Ann, what in tarnation are you doing?”
The voice came from a cowboy striding across the yard. He mounted the steps to the dog trot like he owned it, and when Jacob recognized him, he realized he did. Ezekiel was no longer the scrawny fifteen-year-old kid who hauled out of Kentucky. He’d grown several inches taller and had filled out. He was lanky and lean, but he was not a boy any longer.
Before he could call out a greeting, Ezekiel swept the little girl into his arms.
“You know better than to be talking to some saddle tramp,” he chided her. “Your daddy’ll spank you if he sees you. One of the hands told me there was a stranger lurking about, so I made tracks over here. I didn’t expect to find you out here staring at the man.”
He set the child down. “Go rouse your daddy,” he told her, then directed his attention to Jacob. “Best tell me your name and what you want. My brother’s particular about his family, and if he’s in a bad mood, he’s likely to shoot you first and ask questions later.”
“Ezekiel, I wasn’t expecting a fatted calf, although since it’s a ranch, I thought it might be a possibility,” Jacob said. He kicked aside his bedroll and stood. “I know it’s been a long while now, near six years or so, but I thought you’d recollect your brother.”
His youngest brother stared at him, mouth slack and eyes round.
“Jacob?”
“Yeah, it’s me, kid.”
Boone charged out of the door onto the dog trot. He had his big Griswold pistol in one hand and wore a battle face. He looked fierce until he caught sight of the stranger.
“I’ll be,” he said and lowered the pistol. “You look like you’ve been rode hard and put up wet, brother. Let’s get you inside where you can get fed, bathed if you want, and get better sleeping than out here in the air. It’s good to see you, Jacob.”
Boone had aged but then he hadn’t seen him since he headed to Texas after coming home from the war. He had to be just past thirty now. His face wore a few more lines, and there were a few touches of gray dusting his brown hair. “I’m glad to be here, Boone. It’s been too long.”
His oldest brother grabbed him in a bear hug. When he released him, he became practical.
“Where’s your horse?”
“Tied to one of the corrals. It’s one of ours from back home, a Morgan but a pinto.”
Ezekiel patted Jacob on the back. “I’ll go tend to him.”
“I appreciate that.”
Boone took his arm as if Jacob were feeble and steered him toward his cabin. “Zeke, holler at Moses, will you? Tell him the prodigal has come.”
The little girl who’d first seen him peered through the open door, and Boone paused to tug on her braid. “Can you say howdy-do to your Uncle Jacob?” he asked. “He’s come a long way.”
“I have another uncle?” she said with a grin. “I thought it was just Mo Mo and Z!”
“Tell your mama there’ll be an extra one for breakfast.”
For a tired man, the whirlwind of family made his head spin. Before he could walk into Boone’s home, Moses appeared. He grinned and hugged him, too.
“I’m as dirty as the devil,” Jacob said, but he was smiling, too. “Ain’t had much chance to wash in my travels. I might have had the chance in San Antonio if I hadn’t tangled with some banker, Hammerschmidt.”
“Gesundheit,” Boone said, although Jacob thought the man’s name had been Gunther and spat. “He’s not worth the bread he eats. Come meet my wife and the other babies.”
He introduced Jacob to a sweet-faced woman with light brown hair, a little boy of about three who was playing with a wooden horse, and a baby that couldn’t be more than a month old who looked like Boone in miniature.
“He’s our uncle,” the little girl with his ma’s name told the little boy. “He’s Jay ‘cause his name is Jacob.”
Another woman walked into the cabin, as pretty as a porcelain doll with blonde braids wrapped around her head like a crown. Moses put an arm around her and drew her forward, “Mattie, this is my brother, Jacob Wilson. Jacob, this is my wife, Mattie.”
“I’m pleased to meet you,” Jacob said. This, then, was the woman whose family preferred a German banker over Moses, which had led to a confrontation at the ranch. If Dawson had it right, she’d also saved Moses’ life.
Boone’s wife served biscuits baked in a Dutch oven, milk gravy, and peach preserves.
“If I’d known you’d be here, I would have got some bacon from the smokehouse,” she said. “At noon, we’ll have frijoles and cornbread because we eat our big meal in the evening when Boone’s home. We’ll have beefsteak and fried potatoes.”
Jacob nodded. Despite sleeping on the porch, the warm food made him sleepy. He had a thousand questions he wanted to ask, hundreds of things he’d like to tell, but weariness hung over him, heavy and thick. He required sleep but craved a wash first. And there was one question he had to ask. “Did you get Ma’s letter about Sally Ann?”
Boone’s grin faltered. “We did, and I’m sorry, Jacob. She was a good woman, and I liked her fine. Whatever I can do to help, I’ll do.”
“Don’t talk about her,” Jacob said. “Don’t even say her name. I can’t bear to think about her, so I do my best not to, Boone. I just had to know if you all knew.”
“Fair enough,” his brother said. “So, how’s Ma?”
Grateful that they weren’t going to pry, Jacob grinned. “Feisty as ever. She swears she’s coming here to Texas one fine day, soon as they have train service within spitting distance.”
“I wish she would,” Ezekiel said. He’d returned from stabling Biscuit. “I miss Ma.”
“Her letter said she was fretting over me right before Christmas,” Moses stated. “Around that time, I near died of pneumonia.”
“That’s what I heard when I was in San Antonio,” Jacob returned.
“Seems you were busy up to San Antone,” Boone stated. “Heard all the gossip, tangled with Griping Guts, and met Phineas. Is that where you got the shiner?”
Jacob touched his eye. “I thought it was near about gone, but yeah. I likely wouldn’t have found the ranch, though, with help from your buddy Dawson.”
He wanted to shoot the breeze with his brothers and would, but right now, if he talked much longer, he’d probably put his head down on the table and go to sleep. Boone’s wife seemed to be the only one aware.
“You look tired, Jacob,” she said. “The rest of you let him go get washed up and sleep for a spell. He’s here now, so there’s no hurry to talk.”
Once they had realized it was him, they couldn’t be more hospitable.
“You can sleep in Zeke’s old bed. It’s still set up in the bedroom,” Moses told him. “You can get a bath, too. We have a fair-sized tub, and I’ll heat the water for you. I reckon my duds will fit you fair enough until yours get washed.”
“Nothing ever sounded better,” he said. Though they made him welcome, Jacob had an odd sense of disconnection. His brothers were familiar and yet they weren’t. So many years had passed, he thought, so much they’d missed in one another’s lives.
He’d arrived early in the morning, and by ten a.m., he’d had a warm bath in a tub that looked like it could water cattle and probably had at one time. He shaved and felt renewed. Jacob put on a calico shirt and some wool trousers that belonged to Moses and crawled into the only bed in the separate room. The main room held not only another bed but a table and chairs. Moses stayed until he got into bed.
“I’ll let you sleep,” he told him. “When you wake up, if you’re hungry, come over to Boone’s.”
“I’ll do that.”
Jacob was almost asleep when Moses paused.
“Hey, Jake,” he said, using the boyhood nickname that only the brothers had ever used.
“What?”
“I’m glad you’re here.”
“So am I,” he replied and meant it. Then he did sleep without dreams.