Chapter 16
The next morning, Devon trudged into the back row of the small clapboard church and dropped onto the worn pew. Dr. Arthur LeBeau’s borrowed black wool frock coat stretched tight across his shoulders.
The scents of lamp oil, fresh-cut cedar boughs, and wood smoke drifted his way.
He couldn’t recall the last time he was in a church.
His visits to a formal house of worship had been few and far between since Isabelle’s death.
By the time he’d enlisted in the Federal Army over two years later, he was so hollowed out, he’d dropped to his knees before the Lord when he heard the circuit rider preach at the camp meeting in New Orleans.
Up front, a plump lady dressed in mourning black played “The Church Is One Foundation” on the piano.
The congregants, mostly women tugging their children, filed past. Their stares lingered on Devon as they walked to their seats.
Because he was new or because of his eye…
or perhaps because he was one of the few men under fifty?
His fingers twitched to adjust his eyepatch.
He crumpled his hat instead. They couldn’t possibly know what he’d confessed to last night. At least not this quickly.
Would Morning Fawn come to church? He’d grabbed a roll from Flora in the kitchen and hurried out the door. When he’d passed Mrs. LeBeau in the hall, she’d gathered her skirts and scooted close to the wall as if being in his shadow might contaminate her.
In the stables this morning, George had gone out of his way to help him. That man knew the truth. Maybe he was even the one who’d paid Lucy a visit.
Morning Fawn wouldn’t understand. She’d see him as lower than a dog.
The way she’d gotten her feathers in a ruffle for him calling Miss Schramm Frieda, she’d be ready to skewer him for this.
Could he trust her enough to tell her the truth?
And why should he bother, especially now that Moyer all but had a lasso around her?
“That’s him.”
He glanced up as Thea trailed by on the arm of a middle-aged man with a paunch and receding hairline.
Two ladies who followed in her wake scowled at him as well, then fell to whispering as they hurried past and entered an engraved pew. The whole town would be aware of his supposed sin by the time Thea was done.
The bites of roll felt like lead in his stomach. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and exhaled.
What did God think of what he’d done last night? Surely, it was right to save Lucy and her lover, but maybe there could have been a better way.
A step and a green skirt moved his way. He glanced up and blinked wide. Morning Fawn.
Rosy-cheeked, with her honey-colored hair caught up in a loose knot at the back of her head, she made her way down the row, dangling her bonnet by its strings.
Goosebumps ran up his arms. Words escaped him.
Mrs. LeBeau stopped in the aisle, her tone sharp. “This isn’t where we’re sitting, Beth, dear.” She looked down her nose at Devon as if he were a smudge to be wiped away.
Morning Fawn sat down beside him with hardly more than a glance in her aunt’s direction. “This is where I’m sitting.”
Mrs. LeBeau bristled. “Elizabeth.”
Chin jutted, Morning Fawn tossed her bonnet on the pew beside her. Whatever look she gave her aunt must have been more than enough. Mrs. LeBeau pressed her lips tight and strutted to the front without another word.
More than a few heads turned their way.
Morning Fawn smoothed her skirt. “They’re looking at me. Probably still thinking about that commotion I caused a couple weeks ago.”
He blinked at her. She was doing him the courtesy of acting like the stares were all about her. “So I heard.” One corner of his mouth managed to curl upward before it drooped. “That’s where I came in. For better or for worse.”
“I thought I’d best sit in the back in case it happens again.”
It? Panic? A memory?
Morning Fawn fiddled with a fold in her green wool skirt, avoiding his gaze. Several silky locks looked ready to spill to her shoulders at any moment. He’d never seen a blush so deep on her cheeks.
Maybe there was hope of unraveling Moyer’s lasso.
The congregation faded. She’d chosen to sit beside him. Would she have made the same choice if Moyer was here? Best not to question the blessing. “Please don’t steal any horses today. I’m too beaten down to come after you.”
Hazel eyes, with golden specks, met his. “Perfect time to escape.” She smiled. At him. First time ever, except for the night of the laudanum. She whispered, “Don’t worry. I won’t today.”
Warmth stirred within him, siphoning off the tension. Did she know the truth about last night? He wanted to be certain. “I didn’t do it.” His cheeks heated.
“I know.”
The millstone cracked. His shoulders lifted.
Up front, the minister moved toward the pulpit.
Devon lowered his voice to hardly more than a breath. “I can’t stomach everyone thinking I did. But poor Lucy—”
“You saved her from blame and a whipping. I’d hate to guess what you saved her Ned from.” Her lover.
His pulse throbbed in his neck as their gazes lingered.
The pianist struck a key, and the congregation stood.
The notes of “Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing” sounded throughout the small sanctuary.
Devon rose beside Morning Fawn and picked up the hymnal.
He knew the first verse, not the rest. Palms sweaty, he fumbled through the pages to the correct one and held the book out for Morning Fawn.
His swallow stuck in his throat as her fingers slipped around the right bottom corner to hold the hymnal with him.
“‘Prone to wander Lord, I feel it. Take my heart Lord, take and seal it, seal it for thy courts above….’” Morning Fawn’s voice blended with his.
A hum of awakening swelled within his chest. The first rays of dawn peeked over the horizon of his heart.
Clouds moved across the midnight moon as Devon tied his horse and made his way through the brush.
The wispy buffalo grass parted like wheat beneath his step.
Hopefully, his knee-high cavalry boots would protect him against any snakes that had yet to slither off into hibernation. Tiny bits of paper pricked his heel.
His brain had been full of sap ever since church. Morning Fawn had strolled along on his arm as he’d walked her to her carriage after the service, in no hurry to depart. The warmth of her touch flowed through him like hot maple syrup. She’d made no mention of Ebony or Moyer.
She also hadn’t said a word about Devon’s handkerchief from a week ago. Was it in a heap of dirty laundry, or was it something she didn’t want to let go of? But what was a handkerchief compared to a horse?
Maybe he should agree to race the man, put him in his place.
Gurgling drifted on the breeze as Devon neared the river.
An owl hooted. He hooted back. A man, equal to his height, stepped from the far side of an ancient cottonwood, its trunk wide as a table.
Captain Jeremy Carson. In the year they’d served together, they’d become fast friends, and as equal as a captain and a lieutenant could be despite the fact that Jeremy was a West Point man.
A man who loved Texas as much as Devon and wanted to see her free.
Worn trousers, a patched coat, and a beaten-down slouch hat had replaced his usual neat uniform.
“You weren’t followed, were you?” Jeremy stepped forward, his usually clean-shaven face deep in whiskers.
“No, I made certain. And if anyone asks, I was in Alleyton playing cards.”
Jeremy clamped a hand on his shoulder. “Good to see you. I wanted to come in person to see what you’ve been about.”
“And what are you supposed to be? From the looks of you, the provost marshal might arrest you and ship you off with the rest of the dregs of the Confederacy to the front lines.”
“No, I have me a card.” Jeremy pulled a piece of paper from his pocket.
“Signed by the governor’s deputy—or at least, it looks like his signature—saying I’m exempt from conscription because I’m a teamster hauling cotton.
As a matter of fact, I’m supposed to be off the day after tomorrow with a load headed for Eagle’s Pass. ”
“Only, your load isn’t going to make it to Mexico?”
Jeremy grinned. “I’m sorry to say, the whole cotton train, ten wagons strong, will be hit by a squad of Yankees if I can help it. It’s about time we started setting things right in this state.”
Devon punched his friend’s arm. “With such good work, you won’t need me. I was coming to tell you about the new routes to Laredo and Eagle Pass.”
“I’m hungry for all of the information you have. I don’t know much beyond where my mules are told to go.” Jeremy dug a piece of dried beef out of his pocket, broke it in half, and handed Devon a portion. “Besides, you’re the one sitting within striking distance of the mother lode.”
“I’ve information for you.” Devon sat on a gnarled root. His boot heels dug into the soft mud. A month from now, it’d likely be frozen. He worked his foot free of boot and sock. “Numbers of troops, sketches of fortifications, routes and more. I didn’t know if you’d be here in person.”
The dampness of the night descended around them. Jeremy sat down beside him, undid his top trouser buttons, and tucked the rolled notes into a secret slit in his waistband.
Devon leaned forward, forearms on his knees.
“There’s two encampments in the Columbus and Alleyton area.
A regiment of cavalry and one of infantry.
Probably more coming. The Rebs are mighty nervous about their cotton.
They’ve added an extra train engine at the depot, in case they need to get the troops somewhere in a hurry.
And don’t expect any more cotton to be coming your way down in San Antonio after what’s already on the road gets there.
Confederate headquarters sent orders in the last week to shut down the shipments until further notice. ”
Jeremy finished off his beef. “You’re in the perfect place. All you have to do is wait for the right time.”
“Yeah, I figure there’s still bales on the way to Alleyton, already on the road before the order went out. Not all of it comes by train. Some planters from Arkansas and western Louisiana haul it by wagon.”
“Let the bales stack up for a while. The best time to hit would be if you could get word of when they plan to start the shipments south again and strike right before they move it out.”
That would be the best time. And befriending Moyer or encouraging his courtship of Morning Fawn would be the perfect way to learn such information. Right. About as likely as Lincoln calling the troops home and letting Jeff Davis have his way. “We’ll see.”
Jeremy quirked his eyebrows. “I’m counting on you. For every bale that doesn’t make it to market, it’s hundreds of dollars the Rebs don’t have. Wagon loads of guns and ammunition the enemy can’t afford to purchase.” Jeremy met Devon’s gaze. “How are things going with your accomplices?”
“Good.” Devon shifted on the log, striving for a spot that didn’t bore into his backside.
A late-season tree frog chirped nearby. “Dr. Schramm and his daughter are capable and eager to help. They’ve had experience in hiding escaped slaves and helping to move them to Indian Country.
They even have a secret hold beneath the floor in his office.
Hid a slave there for two weeks one time. ”
“Excellent. What’s the plan?”
“I used the excuse of my eye to visit the doctor. That’ll work for a couple of times, but then to avoid suspicion, the plan is for me to call on Miss Frieda.
Take her strolling down by the depot end of town.
A couple so distracted by each other they couldn’t possibly notice anything else around them.
” He groaned within. How in the devil was he going to keep Morning Fawn from hearing rumors of the alleged courtship?
If it came to it, he’d have to make his affection for Frieda look real. He raked his fingers through his hair.
Jeremy leaned back against the tree. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Is there a problem?”
“Nothing I can’t take care of.” A mosquito buzzed near Devon’s ear.
He swatted at the creature. “An added bonus is that a couple months back, the Rebs unloaded twenty wagonloads of gunpowder in Brownsville. Sent it up to Alleyton by way of the Cotton Road. Much of it has already passed through to the army in Louisiana, but there’s enough still there to make the prettiest firework show you ever laid eyes on, courtesy of the cotton warehouse. ”
“Make sure you get out before the show starts. You owe me another card game back in New Orleans.”
“That’s the goal.” Devon slapped him on the shoulder. “But I’ve had enough of cards and New Orleans. No use retreating to our old encampment. Why don’t we plan on meeting up for a beefsteak dinner after our men take Galveston?”
“Sounds good to me.” Jeremy smiled. “But I want to hear about that girl before I go.”
“Which girl?”
“That spunky captive you rescued. Is she still living with her uncle?” Jeremy rubbed the back of his neck. “Did I tell you my friend from West Point married a captive he rescued? Though from what I’ve heard of it, rescued isn’t a word his wife would agree with.”
“What’s his wife’s name?”
“One you won’t forget.” Jeremy smiled. “Eyes-Like-Sky.”
Morning Fawn’s sister had married a Federal officer and gone east. But LeBeau had only called her by her English name, Margaret Logan.
“The girl I rescued? She’s so thankful, she could wring my neck.
But she has a sister who was a captive. Reclaimed a couple of years earlier than Morning Fawn.
Maybe when you get back to Federal territory, you can write to your friend and see if his wife has a sister.
” It could be what he’d been looking for, a safe place to send Morning Fawn where she wouldn’t have to marry for her freedom.
Get her away from the likes of LeBeau and Moyer.
Only, he had a cotton warehouse to blow up and a German girl to faux court first. He had no business getting himself entangled with honey hair and a pair of hazel eyes. No business making promises.