Brokken Promises Page 12

  He arrived at the cabin, and Chance’s dog met him and barked ferociously. Fritz did not have to knock on the door, for it swung open while he was still climbing the steps.

  He could see the vague outline of Chance holding a rifle across his chest.

  Just his luck Chance would shoot him before he could explain. “It’s me,” he called out.

  Chance lowered the rifle and held it loosely with one hand. “Fritz? What are you doing here?”

  “Let me in, and I’ll tell you.”

  Chance went in and lit a lantern, and Fritz followed him in.

  Chance gave him a long, hard look. “Have a seat. I’ll get Deborah.”

  Fritz didn’t answer and did not do as Chance told him. He stirred up the fire, adding another log so he could warm his half-frozen hands.

  Deborah emerged from the bedroom, clutching her robe. “Fritz! What’s wrong?”

  She took a seat next to the fireplace, and Chance joined her although Fritz remained standing. He took both letters from his pocket and handed them to her. Chance looked over her shoulder, reading along. Deborah’s face registered surprise, and she looked up, her eyes pained.

  Fritz clenched his jaw and a muscle twitched. “As you’ve read, Camellia was born a slave. She was passing for white, and this odious woman, Mrs. Howe, is threatening to expose her, planning to blackmail her.”

  Chance glared at him and gestured. “And why are you here? To salve your conscience because you plan to abandon her because her skin color is a little darker than yours?”

  Fritz was genuinely shocked. “Of course not!”

  “Then what are you doing here instead of going to her?” Chance challenged.

  Fritz had often wanted to punch Chance, and the desire was greater than ever and made his fists clench and unclench. He glared at his brother-in-law and gritted his teeth before he paced the room. The only thing keeping him from punching the walls was knowing Sally Jane slept and he would frighten her if he did so. He made several rounds before he was able to gain control of his emotions.

  Deborah whispered, too quietly for Fritz to hear. Chance only acknowledged her words with a brief nod. Fritz finally came to a stop in front of the fireplace and rubbed a weary hand over his face.

  He glanced at Chance. “I will give up everything I own—my home, my house, my money, and even my family if need be. And that’s why I need to talk to Deborah...” Chance made a grunt in response, and Fritz turned to his sister. “I need to let you know what this will mean to our family before I implement my plan.”

  Her eyes searched his, sympathetic. “I don’t understand.”

  “If we do not give Mrs. Howe the money she demands, she will expose Cam. What will be the reaction of the town? Will Cam be able to make a home in Brokken?” He waited impatiently for her answer.

  Chance swung an arm. “If they are decent people, they will see the person, not a skin color.”

  Deborah nodded. “If someone cannot see past a person’s skin color, does it really matter how they react?”

  “It might if it ruins our businesses—the bank, the General Store,” Fritz answered. “So, I thought, if Cam and I left, we could make a fresh start in another town. It might mean I would never return to Brokken, I might never see any of you again.” His family meant the world to him, and he struggled to keep his composure.

  Chance snorted. “Do you think that would stop this woman...Mrs. Howe? She knows about Sally Jane.”

  Fritz held up a hand. “That’s my fault. I should never have spoken in front of that woman. Now she believes Sally Jane is Cam’s daughter.”

  “What’s done is done,” Deborah said. “The past cannot be repaired.”

  Chance nodded. “We need to address this. Mrs. Howe, could possibly attempt to extort money from Deborah and me if she can’t get it from you.”

  “I agree,” Deborah said. “She’ll threaten to expose Sally Jane as the daughter of a slave.”

  Chance snorted. “Blackmail will not work so easily on us.”

  Deborah shot her husband a look of admiration and nodded. “We will stand against her, no matter the consequences.”

  Fritz sighed heavily. “I don’t know why Cam went along with what I said and pretended she was Sally Jane’s mother. If she had denied it, at least you and Chance would not have to deal with this threat.”

  Deborah put out a hand, and he grasped it. “She must have had good reason. But you must talk to Camellia and decide what to do.”

  Fritz released Deborah’s hand and paced the small room. “It seems we’re damned if we do and damned if we don’t.”

  “Appears that way,” Chance said. He got up to add another log to the fire and stayed there with the poker in his hand.

  Fritz came to a stop in front of the fireplace by his brother-in-law. “No matter the path we choose, there will be serious repercussions. Curt and Karl will be impacted. And what of Karl’s new wife? How will she react?” He leaned against the mantle and stared into the fire.

  Chance cleared his throat. “You can always send Miss Jenkins away, Fritz, and stay in Brokken. Tell Mrs. Howe you have no idea what happened to her.”

  Fritz glanced over his shoulder to glare at him. “I made a promise to Cam, and I do not intend to break it. Ever.” He gritted his teeth, and Chance slapped his back, making him bite into his tongue. He glared at his grinning brother-in-law.

  “Good,” Chance said.

  Deborah came to stand with her husband. “We will support you, always.”

  Fritz turned to face them and raked his fingers through his hair. “But what of Curt and Karl?”

  Deborah gave him a look of disgust. “Do you not know your own brothers? They will uphold your decision.”

  Fritz had to ask. “And what of Sally Jane? You will adopt her, but Cam will remain her aunt. Won’t she be teased, bullied even?”

  Deborah’s eyes softened. “Perhaps she’ll have the Brokken stubbornness and the grit of the Hales to see her through life.”

  After a moment’s reflection, Fritz nodded and then glanced at the clock on the mantle. “It’s after midnight. I shouldn’t have awakened you. I’d better get going so y’all can get some sleep.”

  Deborah touched his arm. “Spend the night here...throw a pallet on the floor. Wait until the sun comes up so it will be somewhat warmer.”

  The thought of riding back to town in the dark, cold night was not appealing. “All right. I’ll go see to my horse and be back in a minute.”

  Chance yawned. “Be sure to lock up when you come back in.”

  Fritz nodded and went to tend his horse. When he came back, someone had arranged a pallet of quilts on the floor near the fireplace. As Chance had asked, he locked up and lay down, contented. He’d see Cam tomorrow, and all would be right with God’s help. With that thought, he fell asleep.

  FRITZ AWOKE THE NEXT morning to the sound of commotion and jumped to his feet, pulling a suspender over his shoulder and grabbing his boots. When he swung open the door, Karl stood there, looking none too happy.

  His brother frowned at him. “You were to meet me at the station,” he fussed, pushing his glasses a notch up his nose and peering at him. “Why are you in a state of undress?”

  Without waiting for an answer, Karl ushered in the most beautiful woman Fritz had ever seen. Karl apologized to her profusely.

  Fritz made a slight bow, planning to greet her, but before he had a chance, Karl held up a hand. “Before I forget, I have a letter for you.”

  Fritz paused and frowned. “A letter? From whom?”

  His brother, his brows drawn together, tilted his chin up. “I do not know from whom. Someone thrust it in my hands as we left the station. Some woman.”

  “When?” Fritz took the letter from his brother’s hand and tore it open.

  “Two hours ago,” Karl’s wife answered. Her voice was richly accented although familiar and pleasant.

  Deborah came from the kitchen, but Fritz did not hear what she said. H
e gave a nod to his new sister-in-law, pushed past his brother, and went out to find his horse.

  By the time his horse was saddled, and he was mounted, Deborah appeared on the porch. “Was the note from Camellia? You can meet the train at its next stop. Wait a moment.”

  Fritz had already reined the horse around and dug his heels into the horse’s sides without replying.

  “At least take your coat!” Deborah called after him.

  He ignored her, urging his horse faster.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The gentle swaying of the train reminded Camellia of the rocking of a boat, comforting her. Someone else in the boat, manning an oar, would have been better, but she could manage. Besides, there was less chance of capsizing if she was in the boat alone.

  She smiled, difficult though it was to do so. With her departure, the Brokkens could not be blackmailed by Mrs. Howe and Mr. Bolt, and it eased her pain. She sighed heavily.

  Pretending to be white under Mrs. Howe’s watchful eye had been futile. She’d questioned Camellia relentlessly until she’d finally broken down and told her the truth, hoping for sympathy but finding little.

  She had told Mrs. Howe that Miss Edna had married Judge Richard Morrison, and Camellia’s mother Esther had been their houseslave. Not too long after the marriage, both Edna and Esther became pregnant and gave birth within weeks of each other. It wasn’t long before Miss Edna realized the resemblance between the two girls.

  Camellia did not blame Miss Edna for her actions—running away when she had a chance even though it meant leaving her newborn daughter behind. It was difficult enough for a childless woman to find work; impossible with a child in tow.

  And it had been Esther, Camellia’s mother, who raised both girls, and endured the unthinkable from the hands of the Judge. Her mother later told Camellia that Edna had begged her to escape with her.

  But Camellia’s mother chose to stay. A runaway slave would have been hunted relentlessly; a runaway wife would soon be forgotten.

  A tear ran down her cheek, and she sighed heavily for all her mother had sacrificed, all she had to face by staying behind.

  A woman across the aisle with a snoring husband by her side cast Camellia a glance. “Anything wrong, dearie?”

  Her kind eyes brought forth fresh tears. Camellia shook her head and dug out her handkerchief and blew her nose. “I am fine, thank you.”

  “It’s always difficult to leave behind those we love. Is that why you are upset?”

  Camellia fought to keep her face composed. She could only nod, and the woman turned away. After a moment, Camellia returned to her remembrances.

  Miss Edna had never forgotten them and sent money, begging her mother to come to Brokken, Texas with the girls. And her mother had planned to do just that when the Judge came across the money that had been squirreled away. Her mother had destroyed all correspondence with Miss Edna, so her death had not yielded the information her father sought.

  Pearl and Camellia had grown up best of friends and made a pact to never reveal what they knew, no matter the consequences. They even ceased speaking of their father’s actions and vowed to leave, as soon as they could. Pearl, with great presence of mind, had quickly sent a letter to Miss Edna, explaining that their father would intercept any correspondence.

  Furthermore, Pearl, more brazen than Camellia, barely allowed a year to lapse before she began flirting with the men who visited with their father, knowing a man would help ensure their safety although, by no means, guaranteeing it. Of course, Pearl had more opportunities meeting men; Camellia was a slave and worked in the kitchen.

  During their studies, hidden, of course, from their father who would never have allowed it, she’d learned that in 1662, Virginia enacted a radical new law that declared children born to a free white man and an enslaved “negro woman” would inherit the condition of the mother. Prior to that, they had inherited the condition of the father. The 1662 law made slavery an unending reality until the Civil War ended it—or, at least, it was supposed to.

  People like Mrs. Howe and Mr. Bolt kept a form of slavery alive and well. She sighed heavily and counted her blessings to be free of the H & B.

  Another blessing had been the sheriff. Last night, Sheriff English had listened compassionately to her story and had given her money and letters of recommendation. This had freed her from having to rely on Fritz, and it gave her a measure of comfort not to be indebted to him. She promised to repay the sheriff as quickly as she procured a position. The sheriff had gone so far as to see her off at the station even though she had advised her to wait until she heard from Fritz. Camellia had seen no need. She had no intention of allowing the Brokken family to be blackmailed—or herself for that matter.

  She could not, would not, allow others to be hurt because of her. It was indeed a blessing that Sally Jane was with parents who loved her and would protect her from people like Mrs. Howe. Besides, she planned to cut all ties with Sally Jane and write to Mrs. Howe to let her know she was not the little girl’s mother. She’d then let the Hales know as soon as she got settled.

  And the final blessing was freeing Fritz. It was a blessing for both of them. Fritz would not have to be married to a woman whose skin was a different color, causing worry if someone found out or, if and when folks knew, to endure their censure.

  Still, it was better to let the Brokkens continue their lives in peace, without the burden of carrying her secret, or worse, having her secret exposed. She loved Fritz enough to ensure him a better future without her instead of a risky future with her.

  Besides, if Fritz had ever been attracted to her, it was only in passing, a harmless flirtation, and her heart would mend with time. Patience was all she needed even though she placed a hand to her lips and remembered his kisses.

  She must have sighed for the woman across the aisle leaned toward her. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

  “No, ma’am. I’m fine. Everything is exactly as it should be.” Camellia folded her hands in her lap, wishing she had a book to read, something to occupy her mind.

  She turned back to the woman, to ask if she had anything to read, when cries of exclamation broke forth from the other passengers. She saw nothing amiss and sent the woman a questioning look. When the porter appeared, with a rifle held against his chest, the woman shook her husband to wake him. He did not awaken but let out a sound between a snore and a snort.

  The man waved down the people who had sprung to their feet. “Please stay seated and keep your heads down. As many as you have noticed, a rider is approaching. He appears to be alone, and we are certain he does not intend to rob the train. I assure you I am well capable of providing a defense against his assaults even if he so inclined to propagate mischief.”

  Despite the man’s words, many passengers pressed against the windows on the right side, attempting to get a look at the supposed bank robber. Camellia joined them and gasped.

  She turned to the porter. “I recognize that man. It’s Mr. Fritz Brokken.”

  “One of the Brokken brothers?” someone asked.

  Another person spoke. “The Brokken brothers robbed their own bank. I wouldn’t put it past one of them to rob a train.”

  “Shoot ’em first and ask questions later,” another exclaimed.

  A woman’s voice joined in. “He’s the one who broke out of jail and almost got his brothers killed and deserves what he gets.”

  “And poor Miss Edna did die,” the woman across the aisle said softly. Her husband still had not awakened and snored softly.

  “Shoot ’em. If you don’t, I will,” a man declared, fingering his holstered pistol.

  “Wait,” Camellia cried. “He might be approaching for a reason.”

  Several heads turned in her direction and scrutinized her. Heat rushed to her cheeks.

  The porter took the opportunity to chastise the passengers. “I have this situation under control. Please return to your seats immediately.”

  Whether it was his to
ne of voice or because he waved the rifle, most people took their seats even though some still grumbled.

  The man with the pistol was the only one still standing and pressed closer to the window. “He’s catching up.” He threw a glance over his shoulder, and his eyes twinkled. “Say what you want, but the man’s got gumption.”

  His face again pressed against the window, and Camellia held her breath until the man released a whoop and turned eager eyes to the crowd who, as one, leaned forward and listened intently.

  “He jumped on. Y’all don’t worry none. I’ll take care of the situation if this train attendant doesn’t.”

  The porter sent him a glare over his shoulder. “Hold your peace.”

  His hands were none too steady as he braced himself as if for an impact. In only a moment, Fritz entered, his eyes scanning the passengers. The porter blocked his path, and Fritz attempted to push past.

  The man held his ground. “Sir, what is your business on this train?”

  “I must speak to someone—a Miss Camellia Jenkins.”

  “May I see your ticket?”

  Fritz, with no overcoat, not even a frockcoat, dressed only in his linen shirt and pants, snorted. “Do I look like I have a ticket?” He patted his pants pockets. “I might have some money...”

  Camellia grabbed her change purse and moved forward toward them. “I’ll pay.”

  A person stifled a laugh, but more chuckles broke out.

  “Forgot to rob the bank before you came?” the man with the pistol asked.

  An answer came immediately from someone behind him. “He didn’t have to. Has a woman to pay his way.”

  The laughter increased in volume, but Camellia caught his eye before Fritz had a chance to respond. He focused on her, and under the scrutiny of the crowd with his look searing her, her cheeks burned. As soon as the porter gave her the correct change, she ducked her head and moved back to her seat without speaking.

  He followed and squeezed in beside her, his teeth chattering.

  “You’re freezing,” she said softly.