March
The short period between winter and summer in Central Texas—called “spring” in many parts of the country—finally arrived in Rosings, encouraging its denizens to leave their houses for reasons other than chores and church. Wednesday was the traditional shopping day for the Bennets, both in Meryton and Rosings. Fanny Bennet was never one to pass up the opportunity to see and be seen, gossip and be gossiped about, and inquire in intimate detail about any new item available for sale in any shop without the least intention of purchasing any of them. Since she was never a great reader, it was her favorite diversion besides visiting with her married daughter.
Mrs. Bennet may have wished for all the finery in the world, but she was as tight as any good farm wife. Her mother had been a spendthrift, and after living hand-to-mouth until her marriage, Fanny Gardiner swore she would never have to worry for money again, and she made sure of that when considering a potential husband. Tom Bennet had proved to be not only a caring companion but also a dutiful provider, and she trusted him utterly with their finances. She managed to live within her allowance, praying that Tom’s promises of a better life would come true someday.
However, this Wednesday was different, as it was left to Beth and Mary to shop for the week’s provisions. Mrs. Bennet had come down with a cold and taken to her bed at her son-in-law’s instruction. The presence of Kathy and Lily was required to wash the clothes and wait upon their mother. Beth and Mary took the wagon to the Bingleys’ to collect their sister before continuing into town.
Beth had to admit to herself that things in Texas weren’t as bad as she’d feared. It was a beautiful place. The summers could be unbearably hot, but after a lifetime of Ohio winters, she could manage with a little sweating if that meant she didn’t have to walk through knee-high snowdrifts. The wide, open plains enchanted her. She never dreamed the sky could be so wide or the land so vast. She loved to point Turner in whatever direction beckoned and just run wild.
As for adjusting to the locals, that took longer. The populace was far more diverse than Beth had ever experienced. She had never before met a slave, much less someone from Mexico. It was both exhilarating and frightening. She found the townspeople to be closed and suspicious—not open and friendly to her as in Meryton. Only Reverend Tilney was unreserved from the beginning. The Bennets’ association with George Whitehead seemed to garner only deference, not amity. But once Beth had made friends with Charlotte Lucas, the town opened up a bit more for her. Beth sometimes felt that by befriending the sheriff’s daughter, she had passed some test, and the strange, nagging feeling of unsettledness whenever she met with the townsfolk faded.
Beth and Mary were soon at the Bingleys, and once Jane had climbed onboard, Mary suggested that they go by the rectory. “Perhaps Reverend Tilney needs our assistance,” she mentioned with what she thought was a straight face. Beth nearly laughed out loud.
Jane was all that was sweet and good, but she was not as quick as Beth. “Assistance? With what? Is something wrong? Is he unwell?”
Mary blushed. “No, no! I… I just thought as he has no sister or… wife, that he may need our help in, well, umm… shopping for provisions… or something.” Beth could no longer contain her mirth, causing a mortified Mary to stutter a disavowal of her suggestion. Jane caught on and, reaching out to take the red-faced girl’s hand in hers, declared Mary’s intention to be a noble one and that the three of them should proceed at once to the church.
It turned out that the preacher was not otherwise occupied and was very grateful for the Bennets’ offer to help him restock his larder. As the church was in the center of town, the wagon was left there, and the small party strolled to Zimmerman’s General Store.
Carl Zimmerman was the son of German immigrants whose family had moved to Rosings when he was a child. He inherited the family store before the war after traveling back east to meet, marry, and bring back Helga, his wife by arranged marriage. As gregarious as he was short, the popular storekeeper had served as the mayor of Rosings for almost ten years. It was mainly a ceremonious position; his only power had been the Mayor’s Court, and that had been taken away by the occupation government. All judicial authority in Texas was now wielded by appointees, who were invariably loyal to the governor. In Long Branch County, Texas native Judge Alton Phillips was still in office only because of an advantageous switching of his political affiliation to the Republican Party.
So, except for the speech given each year on the Second of March—Texas Independence Day, the date the Republic of Texas declared its break from Santa Anna’s Mexico—Mayor Zimmerman was essentially a shopkeeper.
The ladies and gentleman entered the store only to have their ears assaulted by strong words uttered loudly. All attention was called to the long counter that bisected the room where the slight storeowner was berating a black woman wearing a light-colored dress with a blue apron, a wide-brimmed straw hat on her head.
“Now, I told you not to come in by the front door!” Zimmerman’s face was flushed with anger as he shook a finger in the woman’s face. “If you want something, come by the back door. The back door!” he emphasized by pointing with that finger.
“I’m sorry. I won’t do it again,” the woman mumbled.
“I tell you and I tell you, but you won’t listen! You understand English, eh? Understand this, Mrs. Washington—front door for whites only!”
Beth was aghast and mortified at the woman’s treatment. Allowing her eyes to escape the distressing scene, she noted a couple in a corner of the store by the front window. She was startled to see it was Mr. and Miss Darcy, both wearing disgusted expressions.
“But,” the woman addressed as Mrs. Washington stuttered, “I seen Mrs. Gomez come in here—”
“Are you back-talking me, woman?” Zimmerman demanded. “Go to the back door! If you don’t like that, maybe I don’t sell you anything, eh?”
“No, no! I need my order… got money. I… I’ll go—around back, okay?”
Just then, Tilney stepped forward. “Here, that’s enough of that!” He walked up to the pair.
Zimmerman looked up. “Eh? Reverend Tilney, what do you want?”
He ignored the shopkeeper and addressed the woman. “Mrs. Washington, how do you do?”
“Fine, Reverend Tilney, just fine.”
Zimmerman broke in. “I was just telling her that she has to go ’round back, Reverend.”
Mary could stand for no more. “And why is that?”
Before Zimmerman could respond to her, Tilney broke in. “Miss Mary! We must remember this is Mr. Zimmerman’s store, and as such, he makes the rules.” He threw a glare at the shop owner before turning to Mrs. Washington. “May I escort you around to the back, madam?”
The humiliated woman waved him off. “Oh, no, Reverend Tilney, I can find my own way. Don’t bother yourself.”
Tilney smiled. “Very well. I’ll be expecting you at church this Sunday. We haven’t seen y’all there yet.”
Mrs. Washington smiled. “Thank you kindly for the invite, but I don’t want to intrude.”
“All are welcomed in God’s house.”
She thought for a moment. “Then we’ll be there. Thank you again.” With as much dignity as she could muster, she walked out of the store.
Zimmerman was troubled. “Preacher, you’re inviting slaves to services?”
Tilney turned to him. “Are you questioning the way I run the church?”
“I am on the board committee,” Zimmerman’s brows dipped.
Just then, Darcy approached the men. “Excuse me, but I was wondering if my order was ready?” Darcy wore a completely blank expression, as if the confrontation had not occurred.
Zimmerman was all that was amiable to Rosings’s most affluent customer. “Yes, sir, Mr. Darcy. Just step this way.” Zimmerman scampered behind the counter and walked quickly to the far end. Darcy turned to follow, begging the others’ pardon once more.
“Well,” said Beth under her breath, “he’s certainly the lord and master ’round here!”
Tilney cocked one eyebrow. “He was here before us, Miss Beth. We can wait our turn.”
Mary was about to have her share of the conversation, but she was caught by the intense look on Mr. Zimmerman’s face as Darcy spoke to him. The tone was far too low for her to hear, but the effect was instantaneous. The shopkeeper almost ran to the back door, his face, if anything, redder than before.
“My mistake,” Darcy drawled to his sister, “apparently, we have a customer before us.”
The altercation had put all of them off their proposed shopping expedition. Beth and the others gathered on the front porch, taking in the town for several minutes. The front door opened, and Miss Darcy walked out followed by her brother, his arms filled with packages.
“Gaby, you wait here while I put these in the wagon,” Darcy advised. Tilney and Jane immediately walked over to keep her company while her brother finished his task, the Bennet sisters following in their wake.
“How do you do today, Miss Gaby?” Jane said. The girl exchanged greetings with everyone before discussing the weather until Darcy rejoined them.
Mary was waiting for this opportunity. “Miss Darcy! I was talking to Reverend Tilney earlier and expressed the desire to improve the church choir.”
“That sounds like a very noble undertaking, Miss Mary,” the girl said.
“Perhaps you would be interested in joining us?”
Gaby Darcy blushed. “Oh! Oh, I… I’m sorry, but I can’t. I’m not a member of the church.”
“Uhh, Mary—” Tilney began, but the girl overrode him.
“Well, that’s easily taken care of. If your brother is too busy to bring you to services, perhaps I can speak to my father. It would be no trouble for us to take you.”
“Mary!” Tilney hissed. Darcy began to frown.
Mary continued as if Tilney said nothing and turned to the rancher. “But you should go, Mr. Darcy! You need to be in church. All the money in the world won’t do you a bit of good in the afterlife if you ignore God’s words. Remember, the Good Book says, ‘It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of heaven.’”
Beth noticed Miss Gaby blanch, as Darcy’s face grew very red. Heavens, the man is furious! However, when Darcy spoke, it was with deceptive calmness.
“Thank you for the warning, Miss Bennet. Rest assured that both my sister and I take Our Savior’s words very seriously and do well to remember them in church every Sunday. Come along, Gaby.” The Darcys walked away towards their carriage.
“Church?” Mary looked at Tilney, who held his hand over his eyes. “But… but they don’t—”
Jane took Mary by the arm. “That’s enough. You don’t know what you’re saying. The Darcys attend church every Sunday.”
Even Beth was bewildered. “Where?”
Tilney lowered his hand. “At the mission across the river. The Darcys are Catholic.”
Now it was Beth’s turn to go pale, for just then the Darcy carriage rolled by, Darcy stone-faced while an unhappy Miss Darcy held a handkerchief in her lap.
Mary grasped Tilney by the arm and cried, “Catholics! Oh, my! Reverend Goldring back in Meryton said that Catholics weren’t really Christians and that it’s our duty to save their souls.”
The pair in the carriage started—Mary’s voice had carried over the sound of the wheels—and the preacher lost his temper.
“Miss Mary, that’s foolish talk!” Mary bit back a sob as Tilney fought to control his annoyance and wait until the Darcys were out of earshot. “Miss Mary, religious study is a wonderful thing. It’s been my honor and pleasure to read and ponder the words given to us by Our Maker. But, before you quote scripture again, I would suggest you consider this passage: ‘Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.’”
If Tilney intended his statement to be a gentle correction, the result was not as he planned. Mary’s face screwed up, and she threw herself bawling into Jane’s arms. The good reverend looked helplessly at Jane and Beth.
It was Jane who came to the rescue. “I believe we all could use a bit of tea, don’t you think? Shall we repair back to the house?”
Tilney seized upon the proposal. “Excellent idea, Mrs. Bingley. But may I suggest that the parsonage is closer? I would be happy to have all of you as my guests.” He gave Mary a most particular glance.
It served. Drying her eyes, Mary nodded and the party walked back to the church.
Darcy was working in his study the following evening when there was a knock on the door. Looking up, he saw the butler, Reynaldo, standing at the threshold.
“Begging your pardon, señor. Reverend Tilney is here to see you.”
Blinking back his surprise, Darcy bade him to bring in the minister. A moment later, Henry Tilney stood in front of the desk, hat in hand.
“Mr. Darcy, I’ve come to apologize for what happened yesterday.”
Darcy stood and turned to Reynaldo. “Where is Miss Darcy?”
“I saw her going towards the parlor, señor, to practice her music.”
He turned to Tilney. “Reverend, I thank you for coming. As my sister was involved in yesterday’s incident, I think she should be part of this conversation, don’t you?” Darcy couched his demand as a suggestion, but Tilney wasn’t deceived.
“I agree. I’d be happy to speak to Miss Darcy.”
Darcy nodded, and the three went directly to the parlor. Gaby was looking through some music sheets when the group entered the room.
“Gaby,” her brother said with the gentleness he reserved for her, “Mr. Tilney wants to talk to us.”
Brother and sister assembled on a couch, dismissed Reynaldo, and waited for Tilney to begin. Resolutely refusing a chair, he stood before them, hands behind his back, and expressed his regret for the mortification the two had undoubtedly suffered.
“I can’t speak for what the Bennets’ minister back in Ohio preached,” he continued, “but if he was anything like my predecessor in Rosings, I must tell you I don’t agree with it. I don’t hold with the mistrust and hostility that some in my denomination have expressed about Catholics. The Bennets speak out of ignorance. It is unintentional but still hurtful. Miss Mary in particular means well, but it was wrong of her to say what she did. If I can, I mean to heal the division between our churches. I have briefly explained this to the Bennet ladies and plan to visit with them again to discuss this subject soon.”
Darcy stood and extended his hand. “Well said, Reverend. Thank you very much.” Gaby nodded, too embarrassed to say a word, but her expression was less strained than when they had walked in.
Tilney took his hand with a smile. “We’re all on a path to God, and we both pray to Our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. That’s good enough for me, Mr. Darcy.”
“I’d be pleased if you would call me Will and my sister, Gaby.”
“Then I’ll do that. My name’s Henry.”
“Have you met Father Joseph, Henry?” Gaby asked. Told he had not yet had the pleasure, she turned to her brother. “Can we plan a dinner when we can invite both?”
Assured that was a capital idea, Darcy asked Tinley to stay for supper. It took some begging from Gaby, but the preacher soon relented, and the girl took to the piano to entertain the gentlemen before the meal. Darcy was always happy to abandon his paperwork for the joy of hearing his sister perform, and he and Tilney took their seats to listen to the impromptu concert. Gaby started with a short, light piece that delighted her audience before starting a slower, more moody composition.
Tilney leaned over to Darcy. “She’s very good.”
“Thank you. My father was lucky enough to hire Mrs. Annesley to be Gaby’s tutor and companion several years ago. She and Gaby spend several hours a day practicing.”
“I can tell. Her time is well spent.” Tilney listened for a moment. “I’m sorry I never got to meet your father. I hear he was a good man, well-respected by everyone.”
Sadness overcame Darcy’s features, causing the minister to regret bringing up the subject. “Yes, he died only a little while after you came to town.”
“I was new and had no way of making his acquaintance, as he was sick at the time.”
“Yes.” Darcy sat quietly, trying not to think about those terrible days gone by, allowing the conversation to wilt in the face of Gaby’s music before changing the subject. “How well do you know the Bennets?”
Tilney was glad to put the gloomy subject behind them. “As well as any of my congregation. Very faithful attendees for services. Friendly enough and not too overbearing in their manners. Unusual for Yankees.”
Darcy grinned, knowing he was referring to Whitehead. “Yes.”
“I find Mr. Bennet well-read for a farmer. Mrs. Bennet is very… loquacious, but very kind as well. Mary Bennet is surprisingly well versed in theology for a woman. Of course, I know many ladies who know their scripture backwards and forwards, but Mary has read some other religious texts, too. I’d say she’s done more in that sphere than I did before entering seminary. Extraordinary girl…” He trailed off, looking into the air.
Darcy raised an eyebrow at Tilney. “Reading isn’t always understanding, Henry.”
Tilney colored. “I can’t disagree with you. Further study on her part would not be a bad thing—not just learning the passages but the meaning behind them, too. We must all be on our guard lest we fall into cant.” He smiled. “Lily Bennet is young and lively, and her youth must be her excuse for her more exuberant antics. Kathy Bennet reminds me a little of Mrs. Bingley—in her looks, I mean. In spirit she’s more like her sister, Beth.”
“Really?” Darcy turned his head towards Gaby. “I’ve met them both but saw no similarity.”
“True, Kathy is not the great lover of the outdoors that her sister is, but both have taken after their father in wit and intelligence—Beth more so. Very well read, Beth’s both clever and a sharp judge of character. Don’t let that smile fool you. Beth Bennet doesn’t suffer fools gladly.”
“You make her sound judgmental.”
“I wouldn’t say that. She’s very kind to everyone, especially the less fortunate. She’d rather laugh at a fool than berate them unless a friend is hurt. Then, she’s very quick to their defense. She’s very loyal to family and friends, like all her sisters.
“You know,” Tilney said thoughtfully, “the reason for the unfortunate incident today was Mary’s desire to improve our church choir. All the Bennet girls sing; Mrs. Bingley and Mary play, and they hoped to enlist your sister and cousin. But I have another idea. Would you like to hear it?”
“By all means.”
“Instead of a church choir, what about a ladies musical appreciation society? Would your relations be interested in that?”
Darcy sat back as he thought, letting Gaby’s music flow over him. He had wanted both Gaby and Anne to make more acquaintances in town, but he hadn’t thought of bringing them there; he was more of a mind to have their interactions under his watchful eye at Pemberley.
Tilney seemed to anticipate Darcy’s concerns. “I think my church would be an excellent place for the ladies to gather. We have a fine piano, and the caretaker and I are always around. They’ll be well looked after.”
Especially Miss Mary, Darcy thought. He had not missed Tilney’s expression when he spoke of her. So, town was safe, as long as the meetings of this society were held at the Rosings Baptist Church. The Darcys were secure enough in their faith not to have any issues over entering another denomination’s building—as long as it wasn’t during services.
The question remained whether the Bennets were proper acquaintances for Anne and Gaby. They were Yankees, true, but not as obnoxious as others they had met. Jane Bingley proved to be kind; indeed, she was unquestionably a superior person, but what of the rest of them? Tilney pledged to talk to them about Miss Mary’s unfortunate statement, but would the girls be kind to Darcy’s relations? Was the apparent shallowness of Lily adequately compensated by the seeming depth of Beth? Darcy could see her deep, remarkable eyes, penetrating and expressive. There was something there—he knew not what, except he was drawn to find out.
As Gaby finished the sonata, Darcy turned to Tilney. “I’ll think about it, Henry.”
“Oh, there’s some news from town,” Tilney added. “I just heard that the Parkers, one of the families that bought land in the new settlement, are leaving the county.”
“What? My cousin only started selling that land two years ago. Why are they leaving?”
“Rosings Bank foreclosed on them.”
Darcy sat back, an unreadable expression on his face. “Cate was always hard-nosed when it came to business, but this seems a bit rash. Foreclosed, you say?” Darcy shook his head. “It happens. Never liked that land—I guess it was only a matter of time. Where are the Parkers headed?”
“Farther west—New Mexico, I hear.”
Just then, Mrs. Reynolds came to the door. “Mr. Will, Miss Gaby, sir, supper’s on.”
The trio began to follow the cook to the dining room when the sight of the black woman recalled something else to Tilney’s mind. “By the way, Will, yesterday at the store—can you tell me what you said to Zimmerman? He looked like you were about to set the dogs upon him.”
Darcy tried to wear an unconcerned expression. “Oh, that. I just told the old coot that if he continued to treat cash-paying customers with disrespect, perhaps there was room in town for another general store.”
Henry Tilney was not the only person making an evening visit. Responding to a knock on the door, Charlotte Lucas opened it to see a man with a black hat in one hand.
“Evenin’, Miss Lucas.”
“Good evening, Mr. Fitzwilliam.” The air had cooled since sundown, and Charlotte pulled her wrap about her shoulders. “What can I do for you? The sheriff’s still at the jail.”
Fitz ran a hand nervously through his hair. “Yeah, well… I ain’t come to see the sheriff, miss. I come to talk to you.”
Charlotte’s eyes grew wide. “Me? Whatever for?”
Fitz looked out into the growing dusk, gathering his thoughts, the light from the oil-lamp sidelights framing the door, glistening on his hatband. “Well, you see, I’m leavin’ on a cattle drive to Kansas in about a month. Drivin’ Mr. Darcy’s and Miz Burroughs’s cattle to market. I ought to be gone for a few months.”
Charlotte stepped onto the porch. “Yes, I heard that y’all were leaving early.”
Fitz nodded. “Well… it’s become a bit of a tradition for me to buy somethin’ for Miss Darcy after I get to Abilene. Nothin’ big, you understand, just a trinket or two for remembrance.” He smiled as he fidgeted with his hat. “She’s like another little sister to me, and it pleases her no end.”
“That’s very nice.”
Fitz studied his boots. “Yeah, well… I was thinkin’… maybe I could… uh…”
Charlotte tilted her head, not sure what he was talking about. “Yes?”
He peeked shyly at her. “Bring back somethin’ for you.”
Her jaw dropped. “Me?” she whispered.
In the limited light, Fitz’s expression was hardly visible, but the stammer in his voice gave away his lack of composure. “Uh, yeah. There ain’t much pretty things ’round here for a lady. I’ve been thinkin’, and seeing as you got no brothers to buy you stuff like that at the end of a drive, I thought that maybe… I could.”
Charlotte Lucas was the only daughter of a widowed sheriff. That alone put off most would-be suitors. On top of the situation at home, Charlotte was a woman who would be considered handsome by only her most charitable acquaintances and plain by the world in general. She had never had an admirer, much less a sweetheart, and at twenty-five, she expected nothing more than being the town spinster, taking care of her father in his dotage.
She wasn’t blind or uninterested in the male sex. Occasionally, Charlotte would allow herself to dream of a life with a kind and handsome man with children at her feet, if only she looked more like Jane or Beth. If asked, of the men in town, she liked Richard Fitzwilliam. The good-looking cowboy always had a kind word for her since he came to town. He had been one of the fixtures in her dreams. But dreams never came true for the likes of Charlotte Lucas.
Therefore, it was no wonder that Fitz’s astonishing words sent a shock through her. She grew hot and cold at the same time. Unconsciously, she pulled her wrap more tightly about her. “What kind of… pretty things?”
Fitz looked everywhere but at her. “Oh, I don’t know. Things you can’t get ’round here, I suppose. Umm… a piece of lace or a figurine. Maybe some o’ that fancy perfume that smells of flowers.” He looked up. “Decent things—I wouldn’t buy you anything not decent. That wouldn’t be right.”
Charlotte bit her lip. “No, of course not.”
The corner of his lip turned up. “Have to be pretty, though.”
Her mouth was dry. “Why?”
“Pretty girls need pretty things.”
Silence hung between them. “You think I’m pretty?”
Fitz’s eyes grew dark as he licked his lips. Time seemed to stand still as she awaited his response. He took a half step closer, his smile growing a bit.
Another voice called out from the darkness. “Charlotte, who are you talking to? Oh—Fitzwilliam. What can I do for you?”
The two jumped away from each other as Sheriff Lucas reached the porch, Charlotte unable to hide her flushed expression. The sheriff, scowling, eyed his daughter closely.
“Get yourself inside, girl.”
“Paw, we weren’t doing anything,” Charlotte protested. “Fitz was just visiting.”
“I said, get inside,” Lucas growled. “We’ll talk later.”
Embarrassed, Charlotte nodded at Fitz. “Good night,” she managed before fleeing inside. Sheriff Lucas then turned to the cowhand.
“Unless you’ve got business with me, you best be goin’,” Lucas said coldly.
Fitz straightened up in indignation. “Sheriff, we weren’t doin’ anything wrong. I just came by to call on Miss Charlotte, respectful like.”
“Yeah, when I wasn’t at home.”
“That wasn’t my intention. I’d be glad to come by anytime you like. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt Miss Charlotte’s reputation.”
Lucas got between Fitz and his door, his hands on his hips. “What are your intentions?”
Fitz flushed. “I’m an honorable man; you know that.”
Lucas was resolute. “I know you’re a hired hand at Pemberley.”
“Surely, you’ve got nothin’ against Darcy?” Lucas just stared at him and realization hit the ranch foreman. “Oh, it’s me. What’s the matter, Lucas, don’t think I’m worthy o’ courtin’ your daughter?”
Lucas stared him right in the eye. “Charlotte’s my only kin—she’s all I got. She deserves everything good in the world. She deserves a man who can provide for her better than me, you understand?”
“So, I ain’t good enough?” Fitz spit out between gritted teeth.
“No, you ain’t.”
Fitz flinched, but he never broke eye contact with Lucas. “Well, you made your sentiments clear.”
Lucas nodded. “Nothin’ personal, Fitz. I gotta do what’s best.”
Fitz didn’t respond until he replaced his hat and climbed aboard Jeb Stuart. He then turned to the sheriff. “I’ve said my piece, an’ I’ve taken account o’ your opinion. Only one thing remains.”
“And what’s that?” Lucas demanded.
“Hearin’ Miss Charlotte’s opinion o’ the matter. That’s the only one that counts in my book. Be seein’ you.” Fitz pulled Jeb Stuart’s head about and set off at a trot towards the Long Branch Bridge and Pemberley.
“You’re wastin’ your time, Fitzwilliam!” Lucas shook his fist as he walked into the street. “Mine is the word she’ll listen to. Don’t come around here! You hear me?” He stood in the middle of the road in the dark, continuing to yell at the retreating figure.
Any passerby would question whether the man was trying to convince the rider or himself.