XVI

ANNIE LEWIS watched in disbelief as Isaac Blackwood pulled up in back of the cabin, driving two mules hitched to a wagon loaded with firewood. A small boy sat on the seat beside Isaac, his eyes wide and curious as Annie walked out to meet them, her skirt catching in the wind and whipping a little. Isaac doffed his old hat. He was clean-shaven, as the last time. Gone was the dark beard he used to wear.

“Mr. Blackwood—Isaac,” she called, stopping a little short because the skirt seemed to be worrying the skittish mules. “What in the world brings you here with that wagon?”

“Howdy, Miss Annie. Well, ma’am, me and the boy here, we been gatherin’ up wood for next winter. It come to me that you don’t have a man of your own to fetch for you. There’s aplenty of dead timber out yonder, and it’s easy gatherin’. Didn’t take us no time, hardly.” He nodded toward the heavy woods which lined the river and stretched beyond it.

The mules’ attention had gone to a cow which grazed in a meadow beyond the house, so Annie stepped closer to the wagon. She had not seen the boy before. She judged him to be five or six years old. She thought she could see a resemblance, but she had not heard of Isaac ever being married. “Your son?”

Isaac seemed a little flustered and slow in answering. “He belongs to Finis. But I reckon I’ve done the biggest part of his raisin’.”

Annie suspected that was no exaggeration. She had not seen much of the other two Blackwood brothers, Finis and Luke, but she had heard enough from Michael and Andrew to know their coming to Texas had been an improvement for Tennessee. Finis could not be much of a father for a boy, any more than old Cyrus Blackwood back home had been for his own sizable brood.

She said, “I appreciate the gesture, Mr. Blackwood, but it wasn’t necessary. My brothers have promised to lay in a supply for me once they get their fields worked.”

“If it comes a hard winter, you’ll need all the wood you can get. I’ll be unloadin’ it for you.” He stepped down from the wagon, then took the boy in his arms and set him on the ground, motioning for him to stand back out of harm’s way. A small woodpile was already there, thanks to Andrew and to Michael’s oldest, Mordecai. The mules stood patiently, switching tails and flipping their ears against the summer flies that harassed them.

Annie vacillated between gratitude and embarrassment as she watched Isaac work. She did appreciate the gesture, but she sensed that Isaac had a reason. She had not been oblivious to the way he looked at her whenever he came around. That he admired her, that he wanted her, she had no doubt. She was both flattered and troubled, troubled because she could not return the feeling. He seemed in all ways a gentleman in her presence, never pushing himself, never saying or doing anything that might give offense. Had he been someone other than a Blackwood, she might have been able to respond. But she remembered too well the reputation that family had back in Tennessee, and knew the reputation Isaac’s brothers had here. It had been Isaac’s father Cyrus who had betrayed Annie’s father to the Spanish soldiers, resulting in his being murdered here in Texas a long time ago. That, if nothing else, would always stand between them.