One Texas Night

CHAPTER 5

Michael walked slowly back onto the house grounds. He was supposed to join her at dinner, but he had no idea when dinner would be. At the prison there were only two meals. One served at dawn, the other an hour before dark. That way men could use daylight to work and everyone would be shackled in by dark and no extra light was needed.

He’d hated those nights. A boy sleeping in among men who yelled and swore and cried. The silence of the classroom was a welcome change. He hadn’t minded that he slept on the floor with a single blanket at night. The warden’s wife gave him clean clothes every Monday and made him bathe once a week. When he’d finished and dressed, she’d always inspect for dirt under his nails or ears that weren’t scrubbed.

If she found nothing, she’d say, “You’ll do” and walk away without another word.

He ate his meals on the back porch of the warden’s house. Their cook gave him scraps at first. No matter what or how little was on the plate, Michael thanked her every morning and night. Eventually, the meals got better. After a few months, she even gave him a tin with leftover biscuits in it. “You ain’t much older than the kids in that school. It ain’t fair you don’t have no lunch.”

Michael thanked her and that night he tasted his first dessert. One scoop of apple cobbler.

When he was growing up with his uncles nothing had an order. Supper or any meal, for that matter, came when the food was done. If nothing was caught and cooked, they ate like chickens scratching around for bits of food.

He passed through the pasture gate and into the courtyard wondering if the San Louise Ranch ever had cobbler.

He saw Abe and Joseph walking out of their small rooms along the row of cabins Cozette had called guesthouses. His uncles were dressed in wool trousers without a single patch and well-made broadcloth shirts.

“Hold up, Mickey!” Abe yelled. “You get a look at our quarters? Real sheets and two blankets each. One of the maids came by to tell us she’d pick up our laundry and sheets every Monday to wash. Imagine that.”

Joseph shook his head and stuttered, “They’ll w-wear them out w-washing them that often.”

Abe took his time chewing his words before he spoke, as he always did when he wasn’t sure of something. “How long do you figure we’re staying?”

Michael wished he could tell them the bargain, but he’d given his word. “Behave yourselves and you can stay as long as I do.”

Abe tried again. “When your pa married our sister, he took her away. The marriage didn’t take, I guess, ’cause she was back before all the seasons changed with you in her belly. When she left us she kept saying it was forever. Mickey, you ain’t never used that word once.”

Michael had heard the story of how his mother left them a hundred times. They did all they could when she went into labor, but she died giving birth to him. Then his uncles stole a goat and somehow kept him alive. He was about seven when he realized his uncles barely had a brain among them.

He tried to make one detail clear to them. “I’ll stay awhile but we’ll have to leave eventually. This is Cozette’s ranch, her land, not mine. Never forget that.”

They both nodded and turned toward the bunkhouse.

“Aren’t you coming in to dinner?” Michael asked.

“Nope.” Abe smiled. “We’ve been invited to the bunkhouse kitchen for chili.”

Joseph grinned. “W-wish we could invite you, boy, but it w-wouldn’t be right. You’re going to have to eat in the big house w-with all those people w-watching to snatch your plate before you get a chance to lick it clean and more forks than anybody ought to have to put up w-with.”

Abe frowned. “One of them fell in my pocket this morning. I guess you’d better take it back before they miss it.”

Michael took the fork. “No stealing while you’re here, remember?”

Abe’s head bobbled, but Michael doubted the message would log.

He walked back to the house. Inside the kitchen, he dropped the fork on a worktable and moved on. The place had more rooms than he could count. There were sitting rooms and proper parlors. Cozette’s father’s office was bigger than most banks, with closets and doors going off in almost every direction. While they’d looked over the map she’d mentioned her father hadn’t smoked in weeks, the area near the desk still smelled of cigars. Michael decided to ask if the bookkeeper smoked. If he did, he couldn’t have been away long even though Cozette hadn’t seen him.

When Michael finally wandered into the main entry hall, he found Cozette waiting on the third step, her elbows on her knees and her chin in her palms. She still wore her white blouse and riding skirt.

“Am I late?”

“No, you’ve plenty of time to change for dinner. I laid your clothes out myself.”

He frowned. “Why would I change?”

She smiled. “I’ve wondered that same thing most of my life. All I know is my uncle invited guests again. He’s not talking to me directly, but apparently he’s not ready to leave and needed a reason to stay. The charade of a wedding dinner with neighbors is as good a reason as any to delay his departure.”

“How’s your father?”

“The same.” She looked up at him, her eyes filled with sadness. “He doesn’t squeeze my fingers anymore and he won’t open his eyes when I talk to him. I get the feeling he wishes I’d stay away.”

Michael took her hand firmly in his grip. He had no idea what to say. The old man was having a hard time dying just as he’d had a hard time living. Cozette had been as starved for love growing up as Michael had been.

He tugged on her hand and pulled her into his arms as she stood. For a moment all he did was hold her against him guessing that the feel of another standing heart to heart was as foreign to her as to him.

She held on tightly for a moment, then smiled her thanks up at him.

“If I dress for dinner,” he tried to make light of what had just passed between them, “I’m guessing you will have to also.”

She groaned. “Of course, and wear my hair up. After all, I’m not a child any longer. I’m a proper married lady.” They moved up the stairs, holding hands.

“I like your hair down.” He winked at her. “It brushes your bottom when you walk.”

She slapped at his ribs and laughed. “A gentleman never refers to a woman’s bottom.”

He liked her teasing. This was a side of her he hadn’t seen. “I’m sorry, but you know, dear, I’m not a gentleman and I like looking at your bottom as well as your hair.” He slowed slightly to take in the view before she pulled him along.

They reached her room, where Moses slept outside her door.

“I slipped past him,” she confessed.

“Don’t do it again.” He hadn’t meant his words to roll so hard.

She looked up as if she might argue, then turned and disappeared into her room.

He woke his uncle and told him to go eat chili, that he’d guard his own wife tonight. She didn’t like being ordered—he needed to remember that. She expected him to be a gentleman and he wasn’t sure how. The one compliment he’d given her apparently wasn’t proper. If their marriage lasted beyond dinner tonight, he’d be surprised.