Galveston Between Wind and Water - By Rachel Cartwright Page 0,1
dry earth road. The nervous, rakish man sat beside him, his eyes constantly searching the open terrain. ‘So far so good,’ he thought, and if they were lucky they’d all be home for a hot supper before sunset tonight. He gripped the barrel of the Winchester laid across his knees.
In the rattling passenger compartment, William McGowan shifted to one side and rested his fingers on the handle of his Colt revolver concealed beneath the jacket of his best-tailored suit. At this pace they might run the horses into the ground, but at least he would be home in time.
He stared out the window at the vastness of the open plain, preferring not to make eye contact with the four other passengers seated on the benches facing each other. No one seemed to mind, for it seemed to afford each person the privacy of his own hopes and fears in these dark, uncertain times.
A small, shy, brown-haired boy about Bret’s age stared up at him and smiled. William smiled back. The boy quickly buried his face in his mother’s side.
William glanced at the floor and realized again how much he missed his son.
Captain Boland took a quick sip followed by a longer swig. When his Adam’s apple stopped bobbing, he wiped the torn, bloody sleeve of his shirt across his mouth and pock-marked cheek. “We got plenty more work to do before tomorrow. So let’s get on with this.”
A jolt of terror raced down Lorena’s spine as the captain passed the bottle to the men behind him.
A gap-toothed bullfrog of a man snatched it first and guzzled the last of it. The rest of the men grumbled. “Hey, Ragget,” one of them snarled, “can’t you leave some for the rest if us?”
Lorena looked directly into the eyes of Gus, the youngest man. He lowered his gaze as though embarrassed for her. His speech, manners, and clean appearance revealed a formal education well above the sweaty, tobacco-chewing mudsills around him. He always seemed to be standing several paces away from them as if to remain unsullied by their grime and odor.
Lorena’s spirits lifted. A civilized gentleman would only go so far. Lorena hoped she would be able to use him to her advantage. If only the family’s manservant, Philip, would return with his friends they would have a chance to escape from these terrible men.
The captain scuffed the heels of his boots across the floorboards. He stopped in front of her and spoke to the men over his shoulder. “And she’s a McGowan woman, no less.”
“That’s a fact, Captain,” Haines said. “And we been hummin’ that song all day to get in a right friendly mood for our social call. Ain’t we, boys?” He smiled obscenely, showing her a cracked clump of brown and blackened teeth as he croaked the words of the song in a tuneless monotone. “We loved each other, Lorena. More than we ever dared to tell, and what we might have been, Lorena, had our loving prospered well.”
Weems slapped Haines on the back. “Wake snakes, man. You’re givin’ us all an earful of pain, and it looks like you made the boy wet himself.”
The men laughed again and whooped it up.
Bret turned from them and hung his head. “Mother, I’m sorry. I’m—”
“Shhh, dear.” Lorena hugged her trembling son. “Don’t worry. It’s going to be all right.” She stared into his trusting eyes for a few moments, hoping to find a sign to help her believe her own words.
Captain Boland removed his dusty riding gloves. Without a word he suddenly pulled Lorena’s blouse back, exposing her shoulder to catcalls from the other men.
She slapped his hand away. “Keep your claws off me, you filthy animal. You vigilantes are no better than thieves and murderers.”
The captain laughed. “Still savage as a meat axe, aren’t we, Lorena?”
Ragget elbowed Haines aside and staggered past him. “What’s all the ruckus for, ma’am? The boys of the loyal home guard is just asking for the same courtesy you gives away for free to Billy Yank and maybe even to that darkie of yours. And he’ll sure get what’s comin’ to him when he gets back from town.”
Gus stepped forward again. “Please, Mrs. McGowan. There’s nothing preventing these men from doing what they want. I’ve seen it before. If you don’t put up a fight—”
“I don’t right care if she does fight,” Weems called out behind him. “I like it when they scratch like a cornered cat.”