“If I were known as the captain’s brother I would be well suited to sit at the table and rub elbows with the likes of you. Next to my beautiful niece, where I should be. As I’m not known as blood kin to anyone in that house, and have no desire to be, I’m well suited to serve and remain unseen even though I breathe the same air in the same room. I can listen.”
Josiah nodded. “For what?”
“Information that may help us on our journey,” Juan Carlos said.
Josiah took a deep breath. “I don’t think now is a good time for me to leave. Feders told me to wait until I spoke to him before doing anything.”
“That problem will resolve itself soon.”
“What do you mean?”
“Trust me, Senor Wolfe.”
“Lyle needs me,” Josiah said, sternly.
“Lyle needs a father who is alive. We will leave before daybreak. Enjoy the party, Senor Wolfe.” Juan Carlos flipped the reins in his leathery hand, and the horse, to which Josiah had paid little attention, responded and the buggy tore off toward the house.
If the ground had been hard and dusty, Josiah would have been covered from head to toe in dirt.
Josiah did not have to knock at the door. Pedro opened it widely as Josiah walked stiffly under the portico.
The manservant was decked out head to toe in the finest black suit Josiah had ever seen, more perfect than the last time or any other time they had met. Pedro stood squarely in the middle of the doorway, an angry look crossing his face as he took in the sight of Josiah.
“You are late, Ranger Wolfe,” Pedro said.
“I have a son. He needed to be tended to before I left,” Josiah said.
He had not dressed in the suit that was given to him the day before with instructions to attend the tailor for a fitting. Instead, he wore his own clothes, his Sunday best that he saved for weddings and funerals.
Regular churchgoing was not something Josiah took into consideration, so it had been a while since the suit had seen the light of day. As it was, he was dressed in a black broadcloth frock coat and a vest to match, with his father’s gold watch tucked neatly in the pocket. His boots were wiped fresh of muck, and his black pants were a little tight. The last time he’d donned the suit was the day he’d laid Lily to rest in the family plot back on the farm in Seerville.
He wore his everyday hat, the brown felt Stetson, since it was the only hat he owned and he thought little of the prospect of buying a new one just for a fancy dinner invitation at the estate. Of course, he could have worn the hat that was sent to him . . . but he wanted nothing to do with wearing clothes that did not belong to him.
Comfort was a just cause as far as he was concerned, but he also felt he needed Pearl . . . and Pedro . . . to realize that he was what he was: a simple man with a simple life. A fine suit of clothes could not change who he was underneath, no matter how much the clothes cost or how well they fit.
“But you chose not to wear the fine suit?” Pedro said.
“The package is on my horse. I hope you can return it.”
“If I must,” Pedro snipped.
“You must,” Josiah said.
“As you wish, Ranger Wolfe,” Pedro said, stepping back and allowing Josiah entry into the house.
Josiah sucked in a large gulp of air and walked into the house, right past the snarling Pedro, without saying another word.
CHAPTER 29
As soon as she saw Josiah walk through the door, Pearl stopped singing. The light around her was bright, as the Fikes home had, at just about the same time as the governor’s mansion, been equipped with gas lighting.
Standing just inside the door, Josiah was tempted to shield his eyes, the lighting was so intense—but he resisted. He didn’t want to imply a salute, or a matter of weakness or discomfort of any kind.
A crystal chandelier, with icy-looking teardrops suspended from brass hoops, hung over the shiny black piano just inside the parlor. Pearl stood beside the piano, wearing a long yellow dress with a high collar. The dress almost matched the color of her hair, which was piled on top of her head, bound with lace and ribbons. She looked like a spring flower in a field of black coats and fancy velvet and satin dresses that were not nearly as beautiful and glowing as she was.
Every man and woman in the room turned toward Josiah to see what had distracted Pearl, what had stopped the angelic voice from filling up the house. They seemed disappointed at the sight of him, a simple, unknown man in a simple suit of clothes, not distinguished in the least.
Josiah couldn’t have felt more self-aware at that very moment, especially when he recognized many of the luminaries of Austin’s high society, as well as Governor Richard Coke, with his wife, Mary, close at hand, standing in the center of the parlor.
Coke was a tall man, bald on top with dark hair on both sides of his head, offset by a neatly trimmed six-inch beard. He had been a district court judge ten years prior, but was ultimately removed because the military governor at the time thought Coke was “an impediment to Reconstruction.” It was an apt judgment, since Coke’s recent election as governor was widely seen as the end of Reconstruction in Texas. He was not without his foes, especially of late as he struggled to balance the budget—which included cutting the Frontier Battalion down in size.
Coke eyed Josiah carefully, then turned his attention away, drawn by a question from an unknown man to his right.
Standing around and beyond the governor was an assemblage of men Josiah did not know, but who he assumed were members of Coke’s political party, administration, and inner circle. There were at least twenty people stuffed into the parlor, and a few others lingered outside in the grand foyer.
Josiah did recognize Rory Farnsworth, the local sheriff, with whom Josiah had had some dealings in the past. And to his surprise, Major John B. Jones was also in attendance, standing in the center of three lovely young women in the corner, just to the left of the piano. A large, wavy fern almost obscured the major. Once Jones looked up and saw that the distraction was only a meager sergeant, he quickly turned his attention back to the fawning and giggling women.
Jones had taken a liking to Pearl earlier in the spring, at the time of her father’s death, or so Josiah thought, but she obviously was not the center of the major’s attention at the moment. He had a reputation as a man with a different woman of favor in every town he entered, leaving behind a broken heart or a waiting woman in his wake. At forty, Jones was still a bachelor, with a reputation bordering on being a cad. The competition for Pearl’s affection looked to have been pared, but for some reason, Josiah wasn’t lightened by the prospect, though he would have been disappointed to see Pearl fall under the spell of Jones’s apparent charms.
A Negro sat at the piano, waiting for Pearl to resume singing. He was dressed identically to Pedro—formal, in a black suit, starched white high-collared shirt, with a black string tie—only the Negro wore white gloves, as if his brown hands were not allowed to touch the white keys of the piano.
Josiah had never seen the Negro before and didn’t know his name, but he was sure the Fikes house employed more people than he could count or know of.
Pearl motioned for the Negro man to start playing again, then whispered something in his ear. The Negro looked to Josiah, smiled brightly, and nodded.
A soft tinkling immediately filled the room, happy music, not a ballad, as Pearl made her way through the crowd toward Josiah.
Everyone parted, allowing her eager exit from the piano, very much in the manner that the crowd had parted earlier in the day for Blanche Dumont—who was missing from the elite gathering, but who surely knew some of the
