Read Online Night Flower (Gone-to-Texas Trilogy) by Shirl Henke - Free Book Online
Authors: Shirl Henke
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did it, you or your fat friend?” he rasped.
Sears' eyes bulged as he watched the light dancing off Lee's knife blade. He knew what the Tejano meant. “Griggs—he done it. I only...” His voice faded to a gurgling gasp as the blade descended in a swift and bloody arc, cleanly slicing his jugular.
Hearing the sound of a weapon being cocked, Lee whirled and drew his other Patterson, leveling it at the Tennesseean whose rifle had not yet sighted in. ‘These men killed three young women. One of them was my wife.”
“How do I know yer tellin' th' truth?” Shrewd brown eyes took in the haggard but flinty face of the youth.
“The thin one's carrying a gold watch inscribed with the name Alfredo Santiago Velasquez.” Lee motioned to Sears' body.
“I seen th' watch on 'em right ‘nough.” Satisfied, the backwoodsman slouched down in his chair, laid down his rifle, and pushed his coonskin back over his face.
Lee turned to scan the rest of the cantina. The clerks sat rigid in fright, and Bricker cowered behind the bar. He turned back to Sears and searched the corpse. He found the watch and placed it carefully in his pocket. Then, he turned to Griggs. Once more the knife flashed.
“If I could’ve taken them alive, it wouldn't have been their throats I'd have cut,” Lee said softly in the silent room. No one moved as he walked out the door.
* * * *
He rode northwest for several days, avoiding Comanche raiders and bands of Mexican and Texian guerrillas. He was eager to shake the dust and dreams of Texas from his body and soul forever…that was, if he still had a soul. He doubted it. Lee headed toward Santa Fe, intent on losing himself in the vast wilds of the Apachería of New Mexico.
Chapter Four
Boston, 1851
The fire crackling in the grate cast a soft, warm glow on the faces of the three people standing in the library of the imposing brick mansion. Still straight and tall, despite his seventy years, Adam Manchester interrupted his pacing to turn his intense gaze on the serene, lovely face of his daughter, Deborah. The gray-haired banker spoke quietly.
“Lord knows she's a brilliant student and a loving girl, Deborah. But I'm afraid you must prepare yourself. She is very different from the girl you were at her age.”
Deborah's lavender eyes and patrician features softened as she smiled. “When I consider what a highly unconventional daughter I was, Father, I realize that you may be trying to soften a blow for us.”
Deborah's tall, dark-haired husband interrupted. “Adam, exactly what kind of devilment has Melanie been up to?” Rafe Fleming's face at age thirty-nine had changed little since he had moved to Texas fifteen years earlier. Sun-darkened and scarred, it was both fierce and arrestingly handsome at the same time. He scowled at his father-in-law, awaiting a reply.
Adam Manchester had not become a power in the New England business community by hedging. His level blue-gray eyes locked with Rafe's glowing black ones. “She's joined forces with William Lloyd Garrison and his mob-inciting revolutionaries, I'm afraid.”
Deborah's eyes widened. “Garrison. Isn't he the abolitionist who publishes The Liberator! ”
Rafe scowled. “One and the same, my dear. It's been foaming at the mouth about how the slavocracy of Texas trash should never have been allowed into the United States!”
“Since the passage of the Fugitive Slave Law last year, there have been several riots and disturbances. Even our city officials are helping slave catchers return runaways,” Adam replied angrily. “I can't say I agree with Garrison's inflammatory rhetoric, but I do despise what's going on in Boston.”
“And, of course, so does my daughter,” Rafe said
Sears' eyes bulged as he watched the light dancing off Lee's knife blade. He knew what the Tejano meant. “Griggs—he done it. I only...” His voice faded to a gurgling gasp as the blade descended in a swift and bloody arc, cleanly slicing his jugular.
Hearing the sound of a weapon being cocked, Lee whirled and drew his other Patterson, leveling it at the Tennesseean whose rifle had not yet sighted in. ‘These men killed three young women. One of them was my wife.”
“How do I know yer tellin' th' truth?” Shrewd brown eyes took in the haggard but flinty face of the youth.
“The thin one's carrying a gold watch inscribed with the name Alfredo Santiago Velasquez.” Lee motioned to Sears' body.
“I seen th' watch on 'em right ‘nough.” Satisfied, the backwoodsman slouched down in his chair, laid down his rifle, and pushed his coonskin back over his face.
Lee turned to scan the rest of the cantina. The clerks sat rigid in fright, and Bricker cowered behind the bar. He turned back to Sears and searched the corpse. He found the watch and placed it carefully in his pocket. Then, he turned to Griggs. Once more the knife flashed.
“If I could’ve taken them alive, it wouldn't have been their throats I'd have cut,” Lee said softly in the silent room. No one moved as he walked out the door.
* * * *
He rode northwest for several days, avoiding Comanche raiders and bands of Mexican and Texian guerrillas. He was eager to shake the dust and dreams of Texas from his body and soul forever…that was, if he still had a soul. He doubted it. Lee headed toward Santa Fe, intent on losing himself in the vast wilds of the Apachería of New Mexico.
Chapter Four
Boston, 1851
The fire crackling in the grate cast a soft, warm glow on the faces of the three people standing in the library of the imposing brick mansion. Still straight and tall, despite his seventy years, Adam Manchester interrupted his pacing to turn his intense gaze on the serene, lovely face of his daughter, Deborah. The gray-haired banker spoke quietly.
“Lord knows she's a brilliant student and a loving girl, Deborah. But I'm afraid you must prepare yourself. She is very different from the girl you were at her age.”
Deborah's lavender eyes and patrician features softened as she smiled. “When I consider what a highly unconventional daughter I was, Father, I realize that you may be trying to soften a blow for us.”
Deborah's tall, dark-haired husband interrupted. “Adam, exactly what kind of devilment has Melanie been up to?” Rafe Fleming's face at age thirty-nine had changed little since he had moved to Texas fifteen years earlier. Sun-darkened and scarred, it was both fierce and arrestingly handsome at the same time. He scowled at his father-in-law, awaiting a reply.
Adam Manchester had not become a power in the New England business community by hedging. His level blue-gray eyes locked with Rafe's glowing black ones. “She's joined forces with William Lloyd Garrison and his mob-inciting revolutionaries, I'm afraid.”
Deborah's eyes widened. “Garrison. Isn't he the abolitionist who publishes The Liberator! ”
Rafe scowled. “One and the same, my dear. It's been foaming at the mouth about how the slavocracy of Texas trash should never have been allowed into the United States!”
“Since the passage of the Fugitive Slave Law last year, there have been several riots and disturbances. Even our city officials are helping slave catchers return runaways,” Adam replied angrily. “I can't say I agree with Garrison's inflammatory rhetoric, but I do despise what's going on in Boston.”
“And, of course, so does my daughter,” Rafe said
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