Touching the Sky (12 page)

Brandon pulled his spyglass from the saddlebag and studied the horizon carefully. He had found a small ridge on which to position his horse for the best view, but even so, he didn’t want to be obvious and was mindful to stay in the shadows of the brush and few trees.

Two men were riding south, just as he’d expected. The night before he’d overheard only the tiniest snippet of information when Malcolm Lowe had instructed the men to leave at first light for Mexico. Apparently there was something they needed in the way of supplies, and Lowe wanted them to go immediately. Brandon figured this might well be the break he needed to finally learn what Lowe and his men were up to.

He put away the spyglass and maneuvered the horse back to the road. The tracks were clear and easy to follow, and so long as the road stayed fairly quiet and untraveled, Brandon figured trailing the men would be easy.

Laura’s image flooded his thoughts. With the growing affection he had for her, it would only be a matter of time before he would have to make some decisions. He had never asked her about the possibility of leaving Texas. Would she oppose the idea or readily accept it? She seemed to like her Southern life well enough, but she’d also appeared eager to hear his stories of Indiana.

“Perhaps she’d welcome a change.” The horse continued plodding along at the even pace Brandon had set, but bobbed his head slightly as if the statement were offered to him.

Brandon thought back on his life prior to the war. He had attended the university in hopes of becoming a teacher or perhaps a preacher like his father. He loved books and learning, but being cooped up inside all day was not to his liking at all. He missed the outdoors and his work on the farm. He found himself longing for open fields and clear skies. The longer he’d attended school, the more it had seemed evident that he couldn’t live a life that required him to be at a desk or even a pulpit.

He’d returned home at the age of twenty for the wedding of one of his two sisters. Both were older and eventually married brothers from Kentucky. They had met when the men had come to Indiana to purchase horses, and their romances had quickly blossomed. Brandon could still remember the moment when he’d arrived from the city and stepped out into the pasture and breathed in the clean air of the country. He knew then and there that he would not return to school, despite the fact that he had only another year to attend.

His father, though disappointed, had understood; similar feelings resonated inside of him and he accepted that his son was no different. It had been the reason Brandon’s father had taken up horse breeding. His church work was of the utmost importance, but he had wanted to maintain a connection with the land.

Brandon could still hear what his father had said that day.
“You must heed God’s call, no matter where that leads. Remember, God calls some men to build railroads and others to work in countinghouses. No matter what He has in store for you, Brandon, you would do well to follow it quickly. Delays only have a way of turning into difficult lessons.”

The choice was easy enough to make, but then the difficulties of the world began to creep in. The issue of slavery turned quite ugly, and Brandon’s abolitionist parents were determined to help where they could. When they told Brandon of their desire to hide runaways, he had eagerly agreed to help, as had his sisters and their husbands. Brandon could still remember the first time they’d all met together to arrange their plans. He’d been surprised at the fervent support offered by the Kentucky brothers. They were level-headed, hardworking men, who weren’t afraid to sweat and toil for their living. They despised slavery, and to participate in helping folks out of bondage and into a new life was something they both fully supported.

Brandon had been eager for their plans to work, but when the first runaways showed up at his father’s farm, he had been shocked. Most were underfed and sickly. In many cases, there were signs of severe beatings and lashings that had left hideous scars.

“Why do they run away if they know they will be beaten or chained?” his sister had once asked during a visit.

Their father had countered with a question of his own. “If you were forced to live a life of poverty and imprisonment would you not attempt to flee it? Even if fleeing meant the possibility of your own death?”

Brandon had been deeply moved by that statement. Would he not risk everything he had to live in freedom? When the war started, he knew there was no other choice but to join up and lend a hand. It wasn’t until he learned of the colored troops, however, that he knew this would be the proper place for an abolitionist.

He’d never been sorry for his choices. The men he’d served under and over had been cut from a different kind of cloth. He admired the blacks, as well as the white officers who trained them. There were of course problems and issues that reared up between them, but throughout the war, Brandon had been proud to serve with the men of the Twenty-eighth.

His horse gave a whinny, bringing Brandon’s attention back to the road. They were approaching a small town. It wasn’t much to speak of, but there would be water and food, and apparently the gelding was ready for both. He gave the horse a quick pat.

“I agree, boy. We’ll take a rest. It’s not like they can get all that far without us catching up.”

He pulled the horse to a halt in front of a well-worn building. The sign out front proclaimed
Frijoles and Tortillas—All You Can Eat, Twenty-Five Cents
. That would serve him well enough, but he needed to care for the horse first. A young boy came running up to him as Brandon dismounted.

“You give me money and I will water your horse,” the boy announced.

“Will you allow him to graze, as well?” Brandon asked, looking around for any sign of the two men he’d been following.

“Sí, he can have grain and hay. My papa will feed him for money.”

The dark-eyed boy looked up with great hope in his expression. “My papa is inside. This is his store.”

“Then let’s go strike a bargain with him. My horse and I are both hungry.”

The boy nodded enthusiastically. Brandon tied off the horse and turned back to the child. “Say, were there two other men who came here, as well? Maybe an hour or so ago?”

Again the child nodded. “They did not pay for their horses. They just wanted beer and food. They were here only very short time.”

Brandon smiled. “No doubt they had to be somewhere important.” He cast a quick glance down the road before turning back to the boy. “Come along. Take me to meet your papa.”

I
followed them all the way to Brownsville, but then they caught wind of me,” Brandon told Justin Armstrong days later. “After that, I couldn’t seem to pick up their trail. I’m sure they were headed to Mexico, but where and for what reasons . . . I can’t say.”

“Well, you gave it your best,” the major declared. He leaned back in his desk chair and folded his hands. “What about Lowe?”

“He’s been quite elusive. He’s spending time in seclusion with his bride, as far as I can figure. I’ve tried to make sure someone watches the house around the clock, but according to the men, no one is coming or going from the place.”

“I suppose that’s to be expected,” Justin said with a hint of a smile. “I understand Miss Marquardt, or should I say Mrs. Lowe, is quite beautiful.”

“She is that, but honestly, she’s also rather childish,” Brandon replied. “Her sister, Laura, is much more suited to marriage.”

“So have you asked her yet?”

Brandon was unable to hide his surprise, which only caused Justin to laugh. “It’s obvious,” the major continued, “that you’re besotted with her. You two make a handsome couple! And given the ratio of women and men in this state, I wouldn’t think you’d want to pass up an opportunity to marry a beautiful woman. Especially one you find so companionable.”

“I have to admit, I’ve come to care deeply for her,” Brandon said, almost relieved to talk to someone about the relationship. “We’ve not known each other for long, but I have considered proposing.”

“So what is keeping you from doing so?”

Brandon considered the question for a moment. “Well, her sister just married, for one thing. For another, my interest with the Marquardt family started because of you and the general. I’m supposed to find answers and reveal the actions of Malcolm Lowe in order to see him hang for murder. Paying court to Laura has made my task much easier, but I don’t want her to think it was my only reason for spending time with her.”

“So why not explain it to her?”

“Tell her what I’m up to?” Brandon questioned, shaking his head. “I’m not sure that would be wise. She believes strongly in the Union, but I doubt such beliefs would extend to seeing her brother-in-law face murder charges. For all her sister’s immaturity, Laura is completely devoted to her.”

“Well, perhaps you could just remind her that the business of keeping the peace brought you two together. You could even credit the general with giving you an excuse to show up at the Marquardt house. It would at least give her the understanding that it was business mingled with pleasure that brought about your calling on her.”

“I suppose so. I just don’t want her to think she was used.”

“But aren’t you using her?” Justin asked in a most serious manner.

Brandon heaved a sigh. “See . . . that’s what I’m talking about. If you believe that to be the case, how can she think anything else? I didn’t ask to court her in order to get closer to Lowe. I wanted to get closer to her. I never believed in love at first sight before meeting Laura.”

“But now you do?” Justin asked with a smile. “It was the same for me with Susannah, so I won’t blame you for falling for her.”

“I just want to keep her safe. She was right in the middle of the ugly scene at her sister’s wedding party, and I worried that she would be hurt. That’s not healthy for me or the investigation.”

Brandon got to his feet. “I need to think clearly, and yet I cannot help but think of Laura and what is best for her. Perhaps I’m not the best man for this job anymore.”

Justin rose. “Nonsense. You are a good man, Brandon. You are fair and honorable in all that you do. You’ll find a way to work this out. I know you will.”

Shaking his head, Brandon let go another sigh. “I hope you’re right.”

He opened the door to find two black soldiers standing with a white woman between them. The older woman was clearly insulted at being detained by the men. When she spied Brandon, she began to hurl insults.

“Tell these . . . men . . . to let me go. They have no say over genteel Southern women. This is an outrage.”

Justin joined Brandon in the outer room and looked to the saluting men for an explanation. The taller of the two men stepped forward.

“This here woman was throwin’ rotten tomatoes at the men. She was callin’ us names and threatening us.”

“You have no right to be here!” she all but yelled. “You are abominations unto the Lord. He will rise to avenge the South. He will show you your place.”

“Madam, is it true that you assaulted my men?” Justin asked.

The gray-haired woman narrowed her eyes. “Nothin’ much has changed, has it? The coloreds were our men first and now they’re yours. Still workin’ for one master or another as I see it.”

“With the exception that they joined the army of their own free will,” Justin countered.

“Bah! They joined to cheat their masters of the laborers needed to tend the fields. They don’t hold any allegiance to you. Animals are incapable of such things.”

Justin turned to Brandon. “I believe this will take some time.”

“I’ll bid you good-day,” Brandon said, taking up his hat. He glanced at the woman, who was dressed head to toe in black, and nodded. “Madam.”

She all but spat at him as she let loose a hiss. Brandon shook his head. “So much for gentility.”

“But I have no desire to attend a gathering at the Beauregard house,” Laura declared firmly.

Her mother wasn’t being swayed, however. “It would be the height of rudeness to refuse. I need you to accompany me.” Her mother took hold of the footman’s arm and stepped from the carriage. She nodded to the driver. “You wait here for us. We will be at least an hour, maybe more.”

Laura squared her shoulders and allowed the footman to help her from the carriage. “Mother, they are strong Southern supporters. They will know our stand, as well. Do you really think this wise?”

“If we are to mend the pain of the past, we must attend functions that are being held by Southern supporters. This is the only way to clear the air between us,” Mother insisted. “Now, you know I have no use for politics, but Mrs. Beauregard used to host one of the finest Christmas parties in the city. We don’t want her to think that we’re uninterested simply because your father is a Union supporter.”

Laura rolled her eyes, but her mother didn’t see. Already the older woman was moving forward to greet an old friend. Laura followed dutifully.

“Sadie, I didn’t know you would be attending,” Mother declared. “I had heard you were unwell.”

“Just a bit of the ague,” Sadie Cole replied. She patted her ample waist. “It does do wonders for me, however. I always manage to lose a few pounds and then my gowns all fit loosely.” She smiled. “And what of you, my dear Agatha? Have you been well? I feared the wedding and party would have completely taken your health.”

“It tried to,” she assured, “but I took to my bed for three full days and now am much improved.”

Laura listened to the women prattle on about their health issues before finally making their way to the door of the two-story house. Mrs. Cole knocked and the ladies found the door immediately opened by a smartly dressed black man.

“We’re here at the invitation of Mrs. Beauregard,” Mrs. Cole announced.

“Yes’m. The ladies be in the garden room.”

Laura had been in this house on many occasions and knew the garden room to be one of Mrs. Beauregard’s crowning achievements. Inside the room more than twenty women were gathered amidst the huge bouquets and potted plants for which the hostess was well known. She had a wide variety of exotic vegetation that had been brought to her prior to the war. Much of it had come from the South Sea Islands and required constant tending.

“Why, Agatha, I wasn’t at all certain you would be able to attend,” Mrs. Beauregard said, stepping forward with two of her three daughters. Laura knew the Beauregard daughters to be a half dozen years her senior, but at one time, they had all shared social events and parties. Now married with children of their own, the ladies looked rather pale and weary.

“Mamie, I am so glad to be here,” Mother said. “And just look at your beautiful gown. That color of lavender gray suits you so well.”

Mrs. Beauregard smiled in a tolerant manner. “I prefer blue, but the war took that choice from me. We have all agreed to swear off the Yankee blue until . . . Well . . . most likely I will never wear blue again.” She looked at Laura’s mother and eyed her dress of dark navy with a raised brow. “You look very . . . nice. I’ve been so weary of black. We were fortunate to have suffered no immediate losses from the war, so we aren’t wearing mourning ourselves, but so many do. My dear sister lost four sons. I truly doubt she will ever discard her mourning clothes.”

“How sad. Is she still living in Mississippi?” Mother asked.

“Yes. She has the three girls and two younger boys still at home. Her husband suffered at the hands of the Yankee soldiers, but she hopes they will be able to make a new start. I’ve tried to encourage her to move here, but I don’t believe she would ever leave the graves of her sons.”

“How very sad.” Mother gave a nod to Mrs. Beauregard’s daughters. “Esmerelda and Lenore, it is good to see you, as well. Will your sister Winona be attending?”

“Oh goodness, no,” Lenore replied before anyone else could. “She’s in her confinement now.”

Mother nodded. “And when is the baby due to arrive?”

“Not until Christmas, but she is already showing considerably and hasn’t been at all healthy,” Mrs. Beauregard answered in a matter-of-fact manner.

“We shall pray for her and the child,” Laura’s mother declared.

“Come and meet some of the other ladies. I know you will be surprised to find a few of the old families have returned to Corpus Christi. I was quite delighted.” Mrs. Beauregard led Mother and Mrs. Cole away.

“We’ve heard you’ve been keeping company with a Yankee officer,” Lenore said in an accusing tone. Esmerelda nodded and looked to Laura for explanation.

“Captain Brandon Reid asked for permission to court me,” Laura admitted. “As a good many of our men, he is no longer a soldier.”

“But he
is
a Yankee,” Esmerelda said with great distaste.

“My father supported the Union,” Laura told them, “as you both well know. He now supports the healing of our country by putting aside our differences. I feel the same way.”

Lenore touched a hand to her blond curls. “There will be no healing this wound. It runs much too deep.”

“There will be no healing,” Laura replied, “if good people will not allow for it. Should we continue to pick at our wounds, they will never heal.”

Esmerelda gave a
harrumph
and shook her head. “She’s one of them, sister.”

Laura looked at the two women and shrugged. “If by ‘one of them’ you mean that I support our people joining together in a common cause of goodwill and Christian charity, then yes; I’m one of them.”

“You dare to suggest that we hold less than Christian charity in our hearts?” Esmerelda questioned.

“I have done no such thing.” Laura silently prayed that her mother would find some excuse to leave the party immediately. “I merely stated that this was my heart. You and God alone know what lies in your own.”

The two sisters were clearly insulted.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Laura said with a forced smile, “I simply must rejoin my mother.”

She heard them whisper behind her back but decided it wasn’t worth acknowledging. She had known Brandon and her father to say on more than one occasion that the war wasn’t really and truly over. She sadly wondered if it ever would be. Could these once decent and loving people put aside their anger and bitter hatred? Both sides of the war had suffered from painful losses, mistakes, and hurtful words and deeds. What would it take to heal this country, Laura wondered. Was it possible that the riff would go right on separating the North and the South?

Worst of all, would it only be a short number of years before they found themselves once again in a war?