Pemberley Ranch (35 page)

May, 1873

T
WO MEN ON HORSEBACK
stood in the shade of a single oak tree atop a ridge on Pemberley. A tall man in a black vest was astride a black Arabian, the man’s tan ten-gallon hat nodding as his companion spoke. He was of a slightly shorter stature, sitting on a brown horse, and wearing a black hat with a silver hatband. As they talked they gazed over the sea of prairie before them, dotted with hundreds of cattle, lowing and grazing. They were not alone; a handful of wranglers carefully moved their cowponies around the vast herd, keeping an eye out for trouble.

There was an unfamiliar sound on the breeze—that of construction from across the river. The taller of the two men gestured in that direction.

“Soon, Fitz,” said William Darcy, owner of Pemberley Ranch, “soon the railroad will be through the town, the stockyard will be built, and we won’t have to drive our cattle to Kansas ever again. I reckon you’re looking forward to that.”

“That’s for certain, Will,” answered Richard Fitzwilliam,
manager of Rosings Ranch. “Ten more days and it’s the last roundup. I just hope I can get back afore Charlotte has the baby.”

“Hoping for a boy?”

Fitz smiled. “Don’t get me wrong. I’d be pleased with a son, but I think I’d rather a pretty little girl that takes after her momma.” He wasn’t giving his wife false praise, either. Marriage had done wonders for Charlotte Fitzwilliam, Darcy thought. Maybe it was because she was always smiling, but the lady had never looked so pretty in her life.

Fitz pointed towards the main house. “Speaking of little mammas, here comes one. Howdy, Miz Beth!”

Will turned, a smile lighting his face to watch Beth ride up on her paint, Turner. She was dressed in the Spanish style: a white blouse with a black vest over flowing black trousers, the better to ride a horse astride. She had her curly hair pulled back and a wide-rimmed flat hat. For an instant, Darcy was reminded of his mother. Beth answered her husband’s smile with one of her own.

“Howdy yourself, Fitz. How’s Charlotte?”

“Ready to birth that baby.”

Beth pulled Turner to a halt next to Will. “But she’s only seven months along.”

Fitz grinned. “She’s missin’ her feet, she says.” The comment earned a laugh from the lady. “Speakin’ o’ Charlotte, I’d best be gettin’ home. I’ll be by to take my leave of y’all afore I head out to Kansas.” He waved as he spurred Jeb Stuart towards town.

Beth turned to Darcy. “What were you talking about? The drive?”

“That and the future. Things are changing, sweetheart. The railroad, Gaby…”

Beth eyed her husband closely. “Are you having second thoughts?”

Will sighed. “Not really. Gaby needs to get out and meet new people. Miss Dashwood’s School for Young Ladies in Austin is a fine place. Gaby wants to go, and if I win in November—”

Beth interrupted him. “
When
you win in November.”

Will smiled, amused by his wife’s confidence in him being elected to a seat in the Texas Legislature. “Right—then we can get us a place at the capital and spend some time with her, in-between all the hearings and meetings and such.”

“Well, if you don’t have time, I certainly will.” The word was the Democrats felt they had the votes to take control of the state government away from the Reconstruction Republicans. The federal government under Grant had lost all taste for the fight, and the opportunity was there to reestablish local control. There was talk of a new Texas State Constitution. With such changes before them, Darcy knew he had to be a part of it.

“You still planning on coming with me to Austin?”

“Someone’s got to host your soirées. José will have everything handled here. So there’s no reason for us to stay behind. Besides,” she smiled, “I don’t want those society women getting their claws into you.”

Will grinned. “Are you jealous, Mrs. Darcy?”

“Just putting my brand on my own, Mr. Darcy.” Beth tried to look serious and failed. “I rode out to tell you Father’s here.” Tom Bennet, the new chairman of the Long Branch County Democratic Party, was manager of Darcy’s campaign.

“I hope you left him in good spirits.”

“He’s always in good spirits, as long as Samuel’s there.”

Will rolled his eyes. “Wonderful. I’d better get back, before my son’s grandfather spoils him rotten.”

Beth lowered her eyes. “Will, I’ve been thinking.”

“About what?”

“Do you think it’s time we thought about a brother or sister for Sam?”

Will reached out for her hand. “Are you sure? It’s only been eight months.”

She blushed. “I only asked if we want to think about it.”

“All right. Let’s go talk to Tom, and then let’s go for a swim in the lake and… talk about it.”

Beth raised an eyebrow. “Humph. There won’t be much talking, then. You and swimming—you love to get me in the water. Why?”

Will turned bright red. “Umm… maybe one day I’ll tell you. Meanwhile…” He reached over and caught her lips with his. Satisfied—for the moment—the two rode back to the house.

The only addition to the Pemberley Ranch was a flagpole. Flying from it was a single flag of red, white, and blue. It was the visible sign of the compromises made between the former-Yankee farm girl and one-time-Confederate rancher. It was the flag of their home, and their children’s home, and their children’s children’s home.

The Lone Star flag of the State of Texas.

In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea,

With a glory in his bosom that transfigures you and me;

As he died to make men holy, let us die to make men free,

While God is marching on.

Glory! Glory! Hallelujah!

Glory! Glory! Hallelujah!

Glory! Glory! Hallelujah!

While God is marching on.

“The Battle Hymn of the Republic”
by Julia Ward Howe, 1861

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