The Yellow Rose Page 11

  “Sure is good, Jerusalem.” He began to eat more slowly, and finally when he shoved his chair back, he nodded with admiration. “Plumb good, Jerusalem.” He smiled at her. “I got somethin’ to tell you, but I reckon I’ll wait for a spell.”

  He often did this to tease Jerusalem, saying he had something on his mind, but he wasn’t going to tell her until the next day. She reached out, picked up his little finger, and bent it back. “You tell me right now, Clay Taliferro, or I’ll break this finger.”

  “Stop that, woman. I need that finger!” Clay did not pull his hand away but held her, suddenly reversing the grip so that he was holding hers.

  “You’ll have to ask me nice before I tell you.”

  “Please tell me, Clay.”

  Clay could not help but think of how much this woman had stirred him. He studied her for a moment, noting her long, composed mouth. He knew she had a temper that could charm a man or chill him to the bone.

  The fragrance of her hair came to him then, and he noticed the swing of her body and even the warm tones of her personality. She made a provocative challenge. He had never met a more complex or unfathomable woman, and as he held her hand, he noticed her quick breathing and the color that ran across her cheeks. He also knew she was the kind of woman who could draw a pistol and shoot a man down if necessary and not go to pieces afterward, for she had a courage and simplicity that he had found only in Indian women.

  “Tell me, Clay.”

  “All right. I found a place . . .”

  Jerusalem listened as Clay gave her the details but was aware that he was still holding her hand. He had strong hands, and she could feel the vitality that ran through the man.

  “Well, it’s got a house and some outbuildings. It’s got good grass. But the best thing, Jerusalem. It’s right on the Brazos River. Won’t never have to worry about a drought.”

  “It sounds wonderful, Clay. How big is it?”

  “Well, ten thousand cleared and an option to buy another ten thousand.”

  “Twenty thousand acres!” Jerusalem was stunned. “How much does he want for it?”

  “Like I say, he won’t sell to Herendeen, who’s the only man that’s got the money to pay what it’s worth. I reckon it’s worth forty thousand, but Howard says he’ll sell for ten thousand. He just wants out, but he’s got to know in a month. He’s leavin’ and movin’ on.”

  Jerusalem pulled her hand away. “Why, Clay, we couldn’t get more than two thousand dollars for our land here.”

  “I know it,” Clay said. He chewed his lower lip thoughtfully. “I found another place that we could get for about that, but it ain’t much, Jerusalem.”

  Jerusalem sighed, knowing there was no way she could come up with that kind of money. “Thanks for going, Clay,” she said, standing up then and facing him. “I guess you’ll be going looking for gold pretty soon.”

  “Oh, I guess I can hang around a little while. I ain’t in that big a hurry to get rich.”

  None of the Hardins had any hope whatsoever of getting the Howard place in the north on the Brazos. Clay had explained it to the whole family, and Zane had stared at him. “Why’d you even fool with talking with the man? We’d have to hold up a payroll to get that much money.”

  The others had been no more positive, and Clay grew glum. “I reckon I shouldn’t even have mentioned it, Jerusalem, but it’s about the nicest place I ever saw. I wish I had the money. I’d buy it for you.”

  “That’s like you, Clay,” Jerusalem said.

  “I can go look again if you want.”

  “No, I don’t think you should. We’ll just wait a spell.”

  As the days passed, Jerusalem thought of little else but the place Clay had found. She made him describe it in detail several times, and since he had a gift for putting things into words, she began to long for it. Dreaming of a place large enough to start a ranch where her family would have land for years to come made itself at home in her heart. She could almost see it the way Clay had described it. The sweep of the river moving in long, slow curves, and the tall grass spreading out as far as the eye could see. Even the house that Clay said needed a lot of work seemed to be just exactly what she wanted.

  There had not been many things that Jerusalem Hardin wanted in life. She had wanted a husband, of course, but had been disappointed in her marriage to Jake. She had never complained about the lean times on the hardscrabble farm in Arkansas. Work and hard times didn’t bother her. But deep inside she wanted a place where she could put roots down, and she knew that this place she lived on would not do. There was no room to expand to leave parcels of land to children and grandchildren, and she longed for land to call her own and to hold her family together.

  Six days after Clay returned, she was sitting in the small graveyard, thinking of the place on the Brazos. No one disturbed her there, as usual, and it was too early in the morning for most of them to be up. The sun was rising in the east, making a faint line of pale crimson, and the air was still. Jerusalem tried to think about what she should do. Finally, she took a deep breath and began to pray. It was a halting prayer, for she did not know God that well. After a while she spoke out loud, “God, if You’ll give me this place that Clay has found, I’ll serve You all the days of my life.”

  As soon as she prayed, something stirred within Jerusalem. She knew that something was wrong with that prayer. For a long time she sat there, wondering what it was, and it finally came to her. All around her was silence, but inside her heart a realization dawned on her.

  She whispered, “No, Lord, I didn’t mean that. I can’t bargain with You. I’m going to serve You all my life—even if I don’t get that place that Clay found.”

  She sat very still then, and tears came to her eyes. She repeated her words aloud, “I mean it, Lord. I’ll serve You no matter if I have to live in a hut. It won’t matter. If You want to give us this place, I’d appreciate it. But I want to serve You and love You no matter where I live.”

  Jerusalem knew that she had come to one of those places in life that mark the end of something—and the beginning of something else. She had believed in God most of her life, but now she knew that her belief had not been strong enough. She let herself be as still as she could, waiting in the silence for God to speak again. But all she felt was a peace and a new certainty, and then a new joy began to fill her heart. She straightened up and smiled as she looked up into the sky. “I’m ready, Lord, for anything You want me to do.”

  As Fergus Nightingale III pulled up in his wagon, followed by James Langley in the companion wagon, he did not get the horses stopped before Clinton was scrambling up into the seat with him. “Go on down to the river, Fergus.”

  “To the river? Whatever for?” Fergus demanded. “What’s going on?”

  Clinton’s eyes were sparkling, and he was quivering with excitement. “It’s Ma,” he cried out. “She done gone and got converted. She’s bein’ baptized in the river this mornin’. I just came back to get her some dry clothes. We all forgot about ’em we’re so excited.”

  Fergus laughed. “You have made a convert, have you, Clinton?”

  “It wasn’t me. Ma came to it all herself. She didn’t even have to go to no revival or hear no preachin’. She got converted sittin’ out in her little cemetery. Come on, Fergus, whip them horses up.”

  “Right you are. I wouldn’t want to miss this.”

  “Maybe you need to get baptized yourself, Fergus,” Clinton said.

  “I was sprinkled, lad, when I was a mere baby.”

  “Why, that ain’t no good!” Clinton shook his head vigorously. “You need to get plunged right down under the water. Every bit of you! Why, when I was baptized in the Caddo River, the preacher didn’t get one of my feet under. It kind of popped up, and I made him do it all over again. I didn’t want my foot to go to hell.”

  Fergus laughed. He had learned to appreciate this young man with his excessive religious vitality and strange ideas.

  “We shall s
ee, my boy, but I’m happy for you and for your mother.”

  Rice Morgan stood at the bank, dressed in a pair of jeans and a white shirt. He had taken his boots off and was smiling at those who stood gathered around. He had a Bible in his hand, and he was reading from the book of John. Now he looked around and said in his quiet, warm baritone, “This is a happy day. Not only for those who are to begin their walk with the Lord Jesus, but for their friends and family. They say a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step, and the four here this morning who have come to manifest their determination to follow Jesus are taking their first step.”

  He turned and walked out into the water until he was waist deep and held his hand out. There were four of them, including Jerusalem, and Rice baptized each one of them heartily and with enthusiasm. As each one went down under the water, Clinton’s voice could be heard roaring, “Stick ’em under deep, preacher! Make it wet!” At other times he would holler “Amen” or “Hallelujah.” His excitement added some spice to the meeting.

  Clay stood beside Brodie and was holding Mary Aidan so she could see.

  “Is he going to dip Mama next?” Mary Aidan whispered to Clay.

  “I think he is, darlin’.”

  Jerusalem was wearing an older dress. She had wisely sewed some stones into the hem of it so it would not float up. When she went out to stand in front of Rice, he reached out and turned her so she was standing sideways. He put her hands together, held them, put his right hand on her back, and said, “In obedience to the command of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, I baptize you, my sister, Jerusalem, in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost.”

  Jerusalem felt herself going back, and then the warm water closed about her. She went down deep, but Rice Morgan’s hands were firm, and he brought her up in one swift motion. She heard Clinton hollering, and when she passed her hand over her face, she looked to see her family standing there. They all seemed very serious, and she lifted her hand then and said, “Praise the Lord. I’m a happy woman this day!”

  Jerusalem waded ashore, and within the shelter of blankets that the women held up, she put on her dry clothes. As soon as she stepped out, Clinton was waiting for her. He put his arms around her and lifted her off the ground, squeezing her hard. “Good for you, Ma.”

  Others came forward to speak to her, and Clay came last. He was still holding Mary Aidan, who held out her arms, and Jerusalem took her. “I’m right happy for you,” Clay said quietly.

  “Thank you, Clay. Now,” Jerusalem said, “let’s all go to the house.

  We’ve made a feast.”

  Fergus had enjoyed watching the baptism. He had never seen anyone immersed completely, and the sight down at the river had fascinated him. He joined them all at the house and ate heartily. While they enjoyed the meal, Clay told him all about the situation with the Howard land and ended by saying, “It doesn’t look like she’s going to get it, Fergus.”

  Fergus was eating apple pie, and he finished a morsel and then wiped his lips delicately with a snow-white handkerchief. “Doesn’t seem right. I think she deserves that land.” He stood up and walked over to Jerusalem. She looked up, and the others around her fell silent, looking at the tall Englishman who towered over them all. “I’ve heard that angels sometimes show up when they’re needed.”

  Jerusalem was puzzled by the statement, for the Englishman often made strange statements at times. She smiled and said, “I think that’s true, Fergus.”

  “Shore, it’s true. Read your Bible,” Clinton insisted loudly. “I’ve been waitin’ for one to show up.”

  “I’d like to see one myself.” Jerusalem smiled.

  Fergus did not smile, but humor glinted in his eyes. “I have the feeling that, perhaps, I’m an angel.”

  “No, you ain’t no angel.” Mary Aidan popped up and stared at him.

  “You ain’t got no wings.”

  “Well,” Fergus shrugged, “perhaps I’m just a beginning angel just learning how. But, I have just heard, Mrs. Hardin, that you have a desire for a home on the Brazos River, but you have no way to get it. Perhaps I’ve never mentioned it to anyone, but I have scads of money. And I feel that it is imperative that you have that place.”

  “Why, Fergus—”

  “No, let me finish. You’re going to get your new home. I’m going to lend you the money.” Fergus then laughed. “If I were a real angel, I’d just give you the money. But since I’m not, just an Englishman, I’ll lend it to you at a low interest rate. If you don’t pay, I’ll foreclose on you,” he said fiercely. “Not much of an angel, am I?”

  Silence filled the room, and Jerusalem suddenly stood up. Tears were running down her face, and Fergus was embarrassed. “Oh, I say, don’t do that.”

  It took Jerusalem some time to get control of herself, and finally she said, “Thank you, Fergus. You’re the kindest man I know.”

  “Not at all! Not at all! When will you be leaving?”

  “As soon as we can,” Jerusalem said. “And you’ll have to take us there, Clay, just like you brought us here from Arkansas.”

  Clay was smiling. “Well, I reckon as how I can do that.” He winked at Mary Aidan and said, “Maybe I’m an angel, too.”

  “No,” Mary Aidan said and turned her head to one side. “You ain’t an angel.”

  “How do you know?” Clay teased.

  “Because angels don’t get drunk and get throwed in jail.”

  CHAPTER

  TWELVE

  Whoa up there, boys! I reckon we’ve done arrived in the promised land. After pulling the mules forward, Clay turned in the seat and studied Jerusalem’s face. He had drawn the small caravan up so that the lead wagon, which he drove with Jerusalem and Mary Aidan by his side, stopped directly in front of the house. He had pointed the house out to her twenty minutes earlier, and she had not said a word but had watched with a rapt expression on her face. Mary Aidan was asleep in Jerusalem’s lap, her face pressed against her bosom, but Clay saw that Jerusalem was not even conscious of the child. She looks like she’s puttin’ her eyes on heaven for the first time, he thought. Aloud he said, “It ain’t no palace, Jerusalem.”

  Jerusalem took her eyes from the house for a moment, and when she turned to face him, he saw that the hint of tears was in her eyes.

  “It’s fine, Clay—just fine! You done real good.”

  Clay got out of the wagon and saw that behind him Brodie had pulled up the wagon and, he and Julie were climbing out. Moriah and Clinton had stopped their wagon, and he could hear Clinton talking even from this distance as he and Moriah piled out. Farther behind, Zane was leading the horse herd, and even farther back were the cattle they had picked up, herded by four Mexicans that had been hired to make the trip.

  The mules were so tired that they simply stood there, not needing to be hitched. Clay walked around and reached up and said, “Let me have Mary Aidan.” He took the child, threw her over his shoulder, and suddenly looked down, for Bob had sat on his feet. “Get off of my feet, you lazy critter!” he grumbled and kicked at Bob. The large dog stared at him woefully and then lay down and went promptly to sleep.

  Jerusalem was aware of the sounds of voices as her family came forward, but she was staring at the house. Clay had described it to her as well as he could, but men can’t see things as women can. She stood there for a moment and took in the structure, a two-story house divided on the first floor by a door with two windows opening on each side of it and two corresponding ones on the second floor. The roof was made of tin, which was rusty, and tin also covered the long porch that ran the length of the house. It was a frame house painted white once but was peeling now in spots and showing the silver gray of the wood beneath.

  “There’s the barn over there,” Clay said, pointing to the left. “And over on the other side is a smokehouse and a spring house already dug.”

  “I love it, Clay! I’m glad they left the trees standing.” She looked at the huge walnut tree in the front yard and the t
wo pecan trees that shaded the west and the north of the house.

  Clinton’s voice overrode everyone else. “Well, what are we waitin’ for? Let’s go inside and have a look around.”

  Jerusalem laughed. “All right. Let’s see our new home.”

  The tour did not take long, for the house was not that large. The bottom floor consisted of three areas, a large room with a stone fireplace dominating one side, a sink on the back, and the other half was composed of one bedroom and a cupboard and workroom, which also included an ancient wood-burning stove.

  A stairway was on the east side, which led up to the second floor. The second floor had a narrow hallway with four bedrooms. There was a great deal of laughter as everyone chose their bedroom. Zane and Clay shared one bedroom, Julie and Moriah another, Brodie and Clinton a third. The other would remain empty for guests, Jerusalem insisted. Her own bedroom was down on the first floor.

  “Well, it’s going to take some paint and some work to put this house together,” Zane said as he looked around. “It looks like nothin’ much has been done to it in a spell.”

  “Who lived here before, Clay? Why is it so run down?” Moriah asked.

  “Tucker Howard. He was gonna marry a woman, but she ran off and left him. He built the house for her, as the story goes, and I don’t reckon he did anything to it later. A bachelor is a sorry excuse for keepin’ house.”

  “It’ll look wonderful in no time,” Jerusalem said. “Now, let’s get moved in.”

  For two days everyone worked like whirlwinds, and Zane took the Mexicans to ride out and round up more cattle. “If we’re gonna get rich, we’d better start grabbin’ all these free cows we can,” he said, grinning. “When we get back, Brodie, you and Clinton can brand them.”

  He left on Thursday morning, and on the next day, August the nineteenth, Jerusalem and Clay rode into Jordan City to record the deed that had been left at the lawyer’s office. The payment had already been made, so all that was necessary was for Jerusalem to sign it.

  Jordan City was only six miles south of the house, and the road followed along close to the river whose banks were covered liberally with pecan and hickory and cottonwood trees.