Chapter 3
The late-afternoon sun beat down on Ben as he neared the gate of the eight-foot-high cedar pickets that encompassed the Scott homestead, a half mile in from their land boundary marker.
A double-log cabin sat atop a small rise.
The thickest walled stable he’d ever laid eyes on and a few smaller scattered outbuildings populated the rest of the yard.
No sign of anyone, not even a horse. He nudged his mount through the open lopsided gate with its bottom corner scraping the ground.
The roof of the log home had seen better days.
Weeds grew up alongside the covered porch which stretched the entire length of the cabin.
A limestone chimney rose out of each end, and a wide door barred the entryway between the two cabins.
Jeb had talked of this place. Mr. Scott and his brother-in-law had built their home to be like a small fort in order to protect against Comanche and Kiowa raiding parties.
Someone had to be home. A trickle of smoke rose out of the chimney on the right, and the heavy shutters were open, welcoming the breeze into the house.
Crunch. Crunch. The sound drifted from beyond the side of the house.
He nudged his horse left. Beyond the stables and what appeared to be a smokehouse, with its blackened, windowless sides, Cora Scott stood in a plowed field striking the dirt with a hoe.
A wide-brimmed straw hat shielded her face, but it was her, all right, same purple plaid skirt and blouse.
He directed his mare to the hitching post in front of the weathered porch and dismounted.
A steady stream of breath leaked through his teeth.
Had she received his letters? Was she still waiting for her brother to ride through that gate someday?
Ben scrubbed his hand down his face and stepped toward the garden.
Thump. Thump. Miss Scott swung the hoe against the clumps of dirt. Alone and determined, working the land that she appeared to be in danger of losing. She stopped and swiped her forearm across her brow, her gaze landing on him.
Without taking her eyes off him, she unscrewed her canteen and took a drink. Her hoe rested against her shoulder, ready for use, as if he might turn out to be some creature in need of whacking. “There’s a water bucket back by the well, if it’s a drink for your horse you’re after.”
Pain crept up his left leg as he walked toward her. Over a year since the prison camps, his strength still lagged like a puny colt’s. “I’m looking for Miss Cora Scott.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You some Yankee, or one of Mr. Coffin’s agents?
I saw you staring at me back there at the land office.
” Her chin lifted. “You might as well head back to your horse. My brother’s around here with his rifle.
I already had my say with Mr. Coffin.” A slight drawl flavored her rebuke. She positioned the hoe between them.
He halted a few feet away.
A murder of crows landed at the far end of the field and pecked at the loose soil, as greedily as the prison gangs at Andersonville snatched up everything of value in sight.
Words scraped his throat. “I was a friend of Jeb’s.”
Cornflower-blue eyes locked on to him. Beautiful eyes that tugged at him like an ocean current. “‘Was’?”
The crux of his message summarized in one simple word. Was. He nodded.
The fight faded from her expression. She wrapped her fingers around the hoe as if it were an anchor. “I’ve been expecting you.”
“You have?”
The brisk breeze lifted her hat brim, and a wisp of loose chestnut hair rippled across the bridge of her slightly freckled nose. “Not you, exactly. Someone like you. Someone with words I don’t want to hear.”
“You didn’t get my letters?”
“Two or three arrived from Pennsylvania. But my pa wasn’t about to open any mail from Yankeedom. Threw them right in the fire.”
“Then…you still don’t know?” His swallow ate its way to his gut. How was he going to make it through the telling?
“No.” Her voice dipped to a whisper. “But I figure if it was good news, Jeb would have written or showed up here himself.”
Ben’s tongue felt like sandpaper. His mouth watered for a drop of laudanum. Anything to brace himself against the pain he was about to deliver. “I reckon maybe we should go sit in the shade of the porch?” God help her. And me.
Leading the way, Cora tromped across the field with leaden feet, her shoes sinking into the mixture of clay and questionable loam. How could the girl expect to get anything out of this soil?
Touching her hand to his horse’s muzzle, she mounted the porch and plopped down in a cane rocking chair.
Her hat slipped down her back, and she tossed it over to the thick oak door that barred the way between the cabins.
Sweat dampened a strand or two of hair above her slightly tanned brow.
She motioned for him to pull up the other rocker.
Slouch hat in hand, he perched on the edge of the seat with its half-dozen broken reeds.
Back ramrod straight, she clasped her hands in her lap. “Tell me how my brother died. Did you serve with him?”
A bitter taste rose into his mouth. “We were in Andersonville together.”
She shuddered. Word of the horror must have traveled all the way to the stretches of the Texas frontier in the year since the war’s end.
“We were close friends…” Brothers. Closer than any family member Ben had ever had, digging each other out of a quagmire of misery deep enough to smother any trace of humanity or hope from a man’s being.
“Tell me—”
The oak door swung open. Ben stood.
An Indian boy, dressed in settler clothes, stepped out onto the porch, an Enfield rifle in hand.
He wasn’t pointing it, but he gripped the barrel just above the trigger guard, aiming the barrel above Ben’s head.
His scowl said he knew a thing or two about shooting, and he wouldn’t be above trying it.
She’d talked about a brother with a rifle. But how could this Indian boy be her brother? Jeb had mentioned an older brother, Robert. Where was he?
“Charlie.” Miss Scott rose and reached for the weapon. “This is…a friend of Jeb’s.”
“Not Mr. Coffin’s man?” He handed her the rifle, but the set of his mouth said he wasn’t quite sure if he should.
“I’m Captain Benjamin McKenzie.” He extended his hand.
The boy stared at it. “You a Yankee?”
“Yes. Jeb and I both served in the Northern Army. Cavalry, to be exact.” He sat back down, and so did Cora.
She laid the Enfield on the ground at the side of the chair, and Charlie came to stand beside her, placing his hand on her arm. “Where’s Jeb?”
“He’s…not coming home.” She blinked hard and turned her gaze toward the pickets and the prairie beyond. Her voice faltered. “Continue with your story, Captain McKenzie.”
Ben swallowed. “Do you want me to speak in front of the boy?”
“He can handle it. Besides, it’s only him and me here. Your saying will save me from having to repeat what happened.”
Just him and her. The loneliness in that statement thudded like a rock to the bottom of Ben’s heart. The boy and her. No one else? And three hundred acres of ranch, according to Jeb. How could she think of tackling such a horrendous challenge all on her own?
“Captain McKenzie?”
He shook himself and leaned forward, elbows on knees.
“Jeb was the bravest, truest friend I ever had. I first met him in Belle Isle Prison Camp in Virginia.” More of a cold, windswept anthill than a prison.
Crowded. Miserable. Never enough to eat.
“Jeb and I became messmates. Fended for each other.” Ben closed his eyes to the memories and shuddered.
“Jeb was captured at Chickamauga, and from what I heard from his comrades, he stood strong with General Thomas in the face of horrendous firepower. Inspired his fellow soldiers and helped hold the line. He and a few others were captured as part of the rear guard after the battle. Your brother was a man of honor willing to put himself at risk for others.”
“That sounds like him.” Miss Scott’s voice shrank. She pressed her lips together and clutched Charlie’s hand. “But you said something about Andersonville.”
Ben blew out his cheeks. “We were transferred there. Belle Isle was too crowded. Andersonville, with its open air and available wood, was a welcome reprieve at first…” He rubbed his right hand over his left thumb, back and forth.
“Things got a little rough as more prisoners were added. Jeb and I befriended another group of fellows, several from my old regiment. Ten of us in all.” An acid taste arose in his mouth. The guards had treated them like dogs.
Miss Scott hunched her shoulders as if bracing for the worst. He would not give it to her.
“I was mighty sick for a while with scurvy, but Jeb made sure I had food through it all. Just as my health began to improve, his began to falter….” His voice broke off.
His head rang as if someone had clashed two cymbals by his ear.
He needed water…and laudanum. But he would not disturb their grief with his needs.
“Jeb asked me to find you. He was concerned about you and your mother. It grieved him to know he might not see you again on this earth.”
Cora winced.
Ben planted his palms on his knees. “He wanted me to tell you how much he loved you and missed you. Missed climbing trees with you, sitting around the fireplace with the family, your smile.” Ben could see how a man could miss such things about Miss Cora Scott, and not just in a brotherly way either.
Her chest heaved. A sob broke from her throat, but she coughed it back.
Ben’s arms twitched, instinct tugging at him, but he gripped his knees instead. Olivia would have been in a heap of hysterics by now if someone were delivering her this news.
Tears brimmed in Cora’s bloodshot eyes. “If only I could have told him how much I loved him and missed him.”
“He knew.”
She swiped her nose. “He and Pa…they had a falling out…that’s why he left, went north to learn printing from my uncle, my mother’s brother in Illinois. But he’d do anything for the rest of us. He promised…he’d come ba...” She squeezed her eyes and gulped. “How bad was Andersonville?”
“There’s only so much that needs to be said, Miss Scott.”
A robin landed on a rail. Spring. But winter settled deep on the porch.
The boy stared at him wide-eyed. Did his lip tremble? “What are we going to do, Cora?”
She swiped her nose with a handkerchief. “We’re going to finish our visit with Mr. McKenzie. Offer him some of the beans cooking in the kitchen, then send him on his way.”
Send him on his way and lose her land to a greedy swindler in a week? That wasn’t happening. Not if Ben could help it.
“I can’t stay for supper, Miss Scott.” The way his stomach felt, he’d be doing good to get on his horse and get out of there with any dignity.
“But you can’t leave yet. You…your words are all I’ve had from my brother since the war started.” She strangled the handkerchief in her hold, her sea-blue eyes drawing him from the safety of his shore into the unknown. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to impose.”
“No imposition. I traveled all the way to Texas from Pennsylvania to see you...your family.”
“You did?” Her eyes startled wide. “My brother must have meant a lot to you.”
“I owe him my life.”
She sucked in a breath and bit her lip as if the floodgates of emotion threatened to break open.
He stood. “I’ll come back tomorrow.”
“Please do.” She blinked up at him, her face a couple of shades paler than when he’d first arrived.
He tapped his hat to his head. “You can count on it.”
And the insidious whisper crept through his mind as he descended the steps.
How can they count on anything from you?
You’ll be lucky to make it out of bed tomorrow if you don’t hurry to town before the druggist closes and get yourself a dose of medicine.
If you care about helping Miss Scott, you’ll do what you have to to bolster yourself up. Just a couple of doses.
He mounted the mare and headed out the gate. He hadn’t come to Texas to listen to whispers. Dear God, help me.