a child born out of wedlock in an unforgiving community.
She glanced at the unfortunate man beside her. Haley Gates was nearly forty years old, but tongues still wagged about his illegitimate origin, and more people than not referred to him as Sally Gates’s bastard boy.
That wouldn’t happen to her child, by God. He or she was going to have a chance in this unforgiving world. Emily meant to see to that, no matter how sick or scared she felt. No matter how ashamed she felt for closing her eyes that night and pretending Alvin Gibbons was the man she loved, that his hands were Price McDaniel’s hands, that his kisses were the ones she craved, and that he loved her as desperately as she loved him.
“…friends or kinfolk?”
With a jolt, Emily realized that Haley had been speaking to her and she hadn’t comprehended a single word he’d said. She apologized.
“Oh, that’s all right, Miss Emily. A mind tends to wander on a pretty day like this.” He spat, this time intentionally, over the side of the wagon. “I was just asking who you planned on visiting in Texas. I didn’t know any Russells had ever left the county.”
“Only my uncle Randolph,” she said. “And he went east to Washington, D.C.”
“So you’re visiting a friend, then?”
“Yes. A friend.”
What did it matter now, telling Haley the truth? she wondered. Knowing Dodie’s proclivity for gossip, she was certain the entire Ladies’ Aid Society already knew her destination. And if the venerable LAS knew, then everybody in seven counties was sure to know within a week.
“I’ve been corresponding with Price McDaniel,” she said as matter-of-factly as she could. “He chose to stay out West after the war to raise cattle. And he’s cordially invited me to visit his ranch.”
Haley took one hand from the reins in order to scratch his head. “McDaniel. McDaniel. That doesn’t strike any particular bell.”
“Well, he’s been gone for quite some time. He had no sisters or brothers, and his parents passed away several years ago. They lived in that big white house on Solomon Street.”
“Oh, those McDaniels.” Haley slapped his knee. “I remember them, all right. Why, I even helped tote all that furniture they shipped to Texas.”
“Yes. I remember, too.”
What Emily remembered was slipping an envelope into a drawer of an enormous walnut desk, and then a month later being surprised by a thoughtful reply, written in a bold and quite masculine hand. The tone of the letter had been serious and almost poetic, which surprised her even more, because her memory of Price had been that of a laughing and rather cavalier young man, given more to pranks than poetry.
How the war had changed him, she had thought at the time, and then with each successive letter, she found herself increasingly glad that the callow youth she recalled had been forged into such a strong yet gentle man.
Then, month by month, letter by letter, Emily had fallen in love. It had been her distinct impression, even her devout belief, that Price’s feelings for her were of an equal depth and weight. Dear Miss Russell had long ago been replaced by Dear, then Dearest Emily. The second to the last letter—the one to which she had responded with such candor and passion—had begun My Dearest Emmy.
That one—the one with half its inked words dripping down the pages from her happy tears—was now wrapped in a lace hanky and tucked deep inside the reticule on her lap. Price’s other letters, tied with silk ribbons, a different color for every year, were secure in her leather valise. And although she had packed most of her clothes and other belongings for the trip to Texas, nothing really mattered but the letters that had come to be her most valuable possessions, indeed her only priceless worldly goods.
“All that furniture,” Haley murmured, shaking his head. “I sure do remember now that you mention it, Miss Emily. Wonder if all them dressers and desks and whatnots made it to Texas all right. Did you ever hear?”
Emily smiled wistfully. “The desk arrived, Haley. That’s all I know for sure.”
The levee in Vicksburg was crowded when they arrived later that afternoon. Haley’s mule-drawn wagon wasn’t the worst-looking vehicle at the steamboat landing, but it didn’t rank far above most of the produce wagons parked there. For one bleak moment, Emily felt that she had come down a peg or two in the world until she reminded herself of her fallen status and decided she was lucky indeed to even be able to afford a wagon ride, not to mention the passage she had booked on the Memphis Zephyr, whose smokestacks were already billowing with steam.
“I must hurry, Haley,” she said, clambering down from the wagon seat before he could come to her aid, then reaching for the valise that held her precious letters. “If you’ll carry my other bags to the gangplank, I’d be most appreciative.”
Emily hurried across the cobblestones to show her ticket to the captain.
He squinted at her from beneath the polished brim of his cap. “You traveling alone, Miss Russell?”
After she nodded, the man handed her ticket back, then lightly touched her arm. “I’ll keep a special eye out for you. Fine family, those people of yours. I’ve met your uncle, the legislator, on one or two occasions.”
“How nice,” she replied while thinking that her uncle Randolph would likely be the first to disown her in light of her condition.
“You give him my regards when next you see him, will you?”
“Indeed I will, Captain.”
“Is that your man with your luggage?” he asked, angling his head toward Haley, who was just then waging a losing battle with a small steamer trunk, a suitcase, and two carpetbags.
The captain gestured to one of his crewmen, a muscular man. “See that Miss Russell’s luggage makes it to her stateroom, will you?”
Then, after the captain turned to greet other passengers, Emily walked back to bid farewell to Haley.
He stood, gazing forlornly at the ground, the worn toe of one boot lodged between two cobblestones.
“Well, I guess it’s time for you to get on board,” he said. Then he looked up and gave her a wide but toothless grin. “I kinda wish I was going with you, Miss Emily. Out West, you know. Where things is all brand-new.”
“Brand-new,” she echoed, despite the lump in her throat, suddenly feeling far sorrier for Haley than she did for herself. “Well, come along then,” she said, surprising herself by how much she meant it. “Come west with me where things are indeed all brand-new.”
Haley toed the cobblestones again. “It’s tempting, Miss Emily. But there’s my ma back in Russell County, you know. She’s doing poorly, and I think she’d just plain up and die if I left her.”
Emily was so touched by the man’s loyalty to his mother that her eyes brimmed with tears. You’re a lucky woman, Sally Gates, she thought, and your bastard boy turned out to be your blessing, didn’t he? I hope I’m just as fortunate.
“Haley, I know I was only supposed to pay you six bits for the ride.” Emily dug in her reticule as she spoke. “But, here. I want you to take
