Always and Forever (31 page)

Jackson hadn’t had too much to say to Grace since she’d surprised him with her presence. His secret elation
aside, he was still angry that she’d defied him and angrier still that she might come to harm. He planned on sending her back to her aunts just as soon as they reached Marshall, Texas, and if he had to put her on the train kicking and screaming, so be it.

Grace looked over at him sitting atop the fetid straw in a corner of the car and the tightness of his jaw told all. He wasn’t happy about her being here, but now that she was, he seemed intent upon ignoring her. He hadn’t said a word since they’d entered the car a few hours ago, and she was both angry and humiliated. The other passengers riding in the car with them, particularly a man and his two young daughters, and a salesman for a brush company, were trying to make the best of the bad situation by talking to each other, but Jackson hadn’t said a word, so they gave up on trying to include him, and Grace did the same.

The man with the two daughters was on his way home to Houston after burying his mother, who’d died recently in Kansas City. His daughters, aged eight and twelve, were bright and charming. The brush salesman, possessing the gift of gab inherent in most salesmen, kept the girls entertained with simple sleight-of-hand tricks and by showing them his cases, which held not only combs and brushes, but hair ribbons, a variety of hair tonics, and toilet water for his lady customers. His name was Andrew Logan. He was a short, round-faced, brown-skinned man, and according to his nonstop talking, had spent a few years studying at Oberlin until he ran out of money and had to find a job.

Grace found him engaging.

“I too attended Oberlin,” she told him, and they spent the next hour talking about the school and its traditions.

The brooding Jackson wished the talkative Logan elsewhere. It was easy to see the man was taken by
Grace and was going out of his way to impress her with his education and his case of goods. Every now and again Grace would glance over to where Jackson sat silent with his back against the car, as if waiting for him to enter the conversation, but Jackson had nothing to say.

When night came and everyone had no choice but to find a spot in the hay so they could sleep, Logan offered her his coat to sit upon.

“A lady like you shouldn’t have to spoil her clothes.”

Grace smiled, pleased to be in the company of such a gentleman, especially since the man she was traveling with seemed to have no manners at all, but she couldn’t take his coat; she was a married woman now and she didn’t want to seem to be encouraging his interest.

“No, thank you.”

Andrew looked stung. “But—”

“You heard the lady,” Jackson said coolly. “She said no.”

Andrew Logan turned to Jackson and asked, “What business is it of yours, sir?”

“She’s my wife, so that makes it my business.”

Logan’s brown eyes widened. “Your wife?”

One of the Mexican passengers who’d been silently observing the salesman’s attempt to charm the lovely redhead chuckled at the surprising turn of events.

“Yes, my wife.”

The salesman looked so disappointed, Jackson almost laughed too. “So, you’ll have to sell your combs somewhere else.”

Grace was not amused by Jackson’s high-handedness, but kept her temper under control. Fussing at him the way she wanted to would serve no purpose. She thanked Logan again, then went over and sat down next to her husband.

Keeping her voice low, she said, “So, you’re claiming me now?”

“Yes, and where I come from we shoot claim jumpers.”

“He was just being mannerly.”

“You’ve a husband for that, remember?”

“Oh, really? I hadn’t noticed.”

He grinned to himself, then surprised her by pulling her onto his lap. “Here, if you want something to sit on, sit on me.”

Grace could see everyone in the car watching, but rather than give them a show, she placed her head on his chest and prepared to sleep in his arms.

Jackson held her tight.

For the rest of the journey, Jackson had nothing to say during the daylight hours but held Grace against his heart every night.

When Grace and Jackson finally departed the train near Marshall, she was stiff and smelly. Her blue traveling ensemble had not been designed to be slept in for over a week and as a result was dirty and creased. The hem of the skirt was now a dull brown due to the offal and dirt on the car’s floor, but she didn’t care. She and Jackson were together, even if he wasn’t real happy about it.

“Wait here,” he told her. “I need to get my horse from the end car.”

Grace nodded and watched him stride to the back of the long train. Clutching her valise, she inclined her head at the other passengers of color who’d disembarked. They were on their way to be reunited with family and friends, but Grace had no idea where she and Jackson were bound or what kind of reception they’d receive.

He returned a few moments later, leading his horse by the reins. He checked the cinches on the saddle.

“How’re you planning on getting around?”

The pointed question made her raise her chin. “I don’t know. Is there a livery nearby?”

Finished with his saddle, he turned to her. It was quite obvious that she needed a bath and a good night’s sleep. She was a mess. Her clothes were dirty, her hair disheveled. “You should’ve stayed in Kansas City.”

“But I didn’t, so where are we going?”

He wondered if his child would be as fearless as its mama. “Some friends of mine used to live about ten miles north of here. We’ll head there first.”

“Fine.”

He mounted. “I should make you walk.”

“But you won’t,” she countered dryly.

He pulled her up and set her in front of him in the saddle. They rode slowly away from the smoke-belching train and headed north.

At least he was speaking to her, Grace noted, as the horse ferried them across the desolate but beautiful countryside. It was a small comfort, considering he’d spoken to her as little as possible on the long train ride here. Not for the first time did she question her own sanity for wanting to accompany him, but she was determined to endure no matter what the future held. She owed it to the love she felt for him and to their growing child. No one was going to harm the father of her baby while she had anything to say about it.

They were soon passing small houses set near patches of what looked to her to be cotton fields. “Is that cotton growing?”

“Yes. Lot of folks, Black and White, sharecrop it around here.”

“Do they make much money? The plots don’t look particularly large.”

“How much do you know about sharecropping?”

“Not much.”

“Well, sharecroppers lease the land from the big owners, work the crop, and turn it in at the end of the year. The big landowner is supposed to deduct things like seed and rent and pay the sharecropper his profit, only it doesn’t work that way. Most folks wind up owing such a large debt that by the end of the year they don’t even make enough to feed and clothe their families.”

“Then why don’t they move on?”

“They’re up to their necks in debt and can’t. Most are former slaves, many go from cradle to grave on the same piece of land their parents sharecropped on. Farming is all they know.”

Grace now understood.

Jackson continued, “The country made few provisions for its freed slaves, and it’s real apparent around here. The few good agencies were dismantled right along with Reconstruction, so in the end, folks in the South that look like you and me are free, but only to eke out an existence sharecropping, or starve.”

About an hour later, Jackson brought the horse to a halt in front of a small but neat whitewashed cabin. There were a few hogs and chickens milling about the premises and there was an old rusted buckboard next to the house. As Grace and Jackson dismounted, a tall, dark-skinned young woman came from around the back of the house. She had on a worn but well-patched dress, a pair of men’s boots and carried a rusted hoe in her hand. She stopped and stared at them a moment. Jackson took off his hat as if to let her see him better and then her eyes widened in recognition.

“Jack!”

She came running and threw herself into his arms. He held her and rocked her in greeting and Grace, admittedly a bit green around the ears from jealousy, simply
stood there and watched and waited for an introduction.

The woman and Jackson finally broke the embrace and the woman trilled happily, “I knew you were coming back to me, I knew it!”

Grace raised an eyebrow. She dearly hoped this woman was a relative.

Never one to be shy, Grace stuck out her hand. “Hello, I’m Jackson’s wife, Grace. And you are?”

The woman’s eyes widened and Grace could see Jackson’s jaw tighten. Grace didn’t care. She waited.

Jackson finally said, “Grace, this is Davida Craig. Davi, my wife, Grace.”

“Pleased to meet you, Miss Craig.”

The Craig woman looked Grace critically up and down. “How do.”

She then turned to Jackson and there were tears in her eyes. Without saying another word, she ran back into the house, obviously distraught.

Grace asked, “A former lover?”

He rolled his eyes.

On the heels of that, another woman came out of the house. She was older, thin, and bore a strong resemblance to Davida. Her mother or aunt, Grace assumed.

Her tired eyes were shining with happiness as she approached Jackson with open arms. He held her tightly and they rocked slowly. “Oh,” she whispered in a voice thick with tears. “It’s so good to see you.
So
good!”

Jackson held tight to the woman who’d served as his mother after his own died. “It’s good to be home.”

They parted and the woman turned to Grace. The teary eyes were kind. “You’ll have to excuse my manners. I haven’t seen him in a long long time. I’m Iva Luckett.”

“I’m Grace Blake.”

A grin spread across her face. “Blake? Are you Jack’s wife?”

Because of Iva’s smile, Grace didn’t believe the truth would draw as dramatic a response as last time. “Yes, ma’am, I am.”

She turned to Jackson and said, “Now, ain’t you
something
coming back here with a fine lady like this. No wonder Davida’s inside stomping around.”

She placed a hand on Grace’s waist. “Honey, let’s get you in and get you washed up. There’s not much to eat, but what we have you’re welcome to share.”

As Iva propelled Grace forward, Grace looked back at her husband and for the first time seemingly in weeks, he smiled.

After Iva and Grace disappeared inside, Jackson looked out across the wild beauty of the land and felt a contentment he hadn’t experienced in many years. Here the Texas blue sky stretched as far as the eye could see. Here there were no tall buildings to mar the view; no smokestacks to foul the air. There were no crowds, no noise, just the gentle passing of the breeze and the answering whisper of the grass and trees. He’d missed this; missed it a lot, and now that he was back, would find it hard to leave again.

After washing up at the pump behind the house, Grace felt infinitely better now that she’d donned clean clothes. The plain white blouse and dark skirt had been part of her wagon train wardrobe, so she knew the garments would hold up wherever travels with Jackson led.

However, whether her manners would hold up under the rude stare of Davida Craig was another matter. The younger woman began giving Grace the evil eye the moment Iva ushered her into the small two-room cabin. Now they were gathered around a small table eating a
meal of salt pork and beans, and she was still shooting daggers Grace’s way.

Evidently Grace wasn’t the only one at the table who’d noticed, because Iva said, with a touch of irritation in her voice, “Davi, do you have something you want to say?”

“Yes. What does she have that I don’t?”

Jackson looked up from his plate and drawled, “Manners for one.”

She sat back in a huff. “Why’d you have to marry her?” she asked bluntly. “You were supposed to marry me, remember?”

“No, I don’t. You were what, fifteen when Griff and I left here?”

“Sixteen, and you said you loved me.”

“Like a little sister.”

She folded her arms angrily across her chest.

Grace now had a clearer picture. Davida was not one of Jackson’s old flames; she was merely petulant, obviously spoiled, and young.

Iva looked to Grace and said, “You’ll have to forgive her, Grace. Davida’s worked herself into believing that Jack would come back a rich man, make her his wife, and whisk her off to a fancy house up north somewhere.”

The younger woman snapped, “What’s wrong with dreams?”

“Nothing,” Iva told her. “But there’s dreams, and then there’s nonsense.”

Evidently Davida didn’t like what she’d heard, because she stood. “I’m going over to Lucy’s. We need to work on the quilt for the church bazaar. I’ll be back in the morning.”

Iva countered, “You’ll be back tonight and before dark.”

“Oh, all right.” She stormed out.

Jackson quipped, “Not much has changed with her, I see.”

“Not a leaf. I wish she could find someone to marry—take her off my hands.”

“Is she your daughter?” Grace asked.

“Lord, no. She’s my late brother’s child. When he died, his wife brought her down here. Said she was tired of her. Haven’t seen hide nor hair of her since. That was about ten years ago.”

Grace couldn’t imagine abandoning her child under any circumstances. Life seemed to have dealt Davida a cruel hand, but it was still no excuse for such blatant bad manners.

With Davi gone, the atmosphere in the cabin eased.

“How long you two been married?” Iva asked.

Grace remained silent and waited for him to answer.

He did. “Little under a month.”

Grace wondered if Iva could sense the troubles between them.

“That long?” the woman asked. “You here for a honeymoon trip?”

“No, I’m here to straighten out that warrant for my arrest. Lane Trent still own all the land around here?”

“Does the devil still rule in hell? Yes, he’s still around. Richer than his daddy ever was. Folks like us are more miserable these days, too. Rent and seed are so high, you’d think everything around was made of gold.”