Chapter one
Just a short walk from the Texas State Prison's front door was Dynamite Billy Wayne's Freedom Store, where released inmates, eager to resume a new life, could spend their paltry chain gang earnings and any cash they might have had in their pockets when taken into custody on anything from new clothing to one of the horses or mules waiting in a nearby corral. Himself a former inmate, Billy liked to brag to folks he was in the prison's inaugural class, a man who earned his living blowing open bank safes before becoming Texas State inmate no. 19. Now he ran a thriving business in which he bartered for every dime his customers had in their pockets. No one, he insisted, should return home without a new pair of britches, a clean shirt, and a decent-looking hat. If they could afford it, he also had boots in all sizes. In back, his wife offered haircuts and shaves.
If, after emerging from his changing tent in their new finery, they still had money to spend, he led them to the corral. If not, he gave them directions to the nearest town.
By the time Lewis was properly outfitted and groomed, he had just enough money left to buy a swaybacked mare that he hoped still had enough life in her to get him home to Gila Bend. He would have to ride bareback since his budget didn't allow for even a used saddle. The owner threw in a length of rope that could be fashioned into a harness.
Before leaving, Billy Wayne offered him a token good for one free beer at the Cowman's Bar, a gesture of kindness he extended to all paying customers. Lewis, wary of ever setting foot in a saloon again, declined.
Wayne reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a different-colored token. "Seeing as how you ain't inclined to imbibe, which I must say I admire, take this one down to Minnie's Caf, and she'll serve you a free bowl of cornmeal mush that'll stick to your ribs better than anything you've had in a coon's age. For her sweet tea or lemonade, you'll be required to pay."
The mush was good and the glass of lemonade took the last few cents of his prison bankroll.
Lewis Taylor was dead broke, free, and ready to head home.
As he slowly made his way southward, feeling the warm breezes on his face, watching white, puffy clouds float past, Taylor felt new energy surging through his body. It was, however, the stars at night that provided him his greatest sense of being a free man.
Aware of his horse's age and limitations, he resisted the constant urge to hurry her along. Instead, they stopped often to drink from streams and springs and rest in the welcome shade of sprawling oak trees. When Taylor's stomach would begin to grumble, he found sweet wild grapes to satisfy his hunger.
Then, at night, he would lie in the grass, arms folded beneath his head, and stare at the night sky while his horse grazed nearby. He would fall asleep counting the stars that twinkled their welcome to freedom. He'd never seen anything more beautiful.
On the third day, he named his horse Dolly. "Can't carry on a proper conversation without you having a name," he said. "First thing we'll do once we get to the farm is see that you have your fill of oats, a good brushing, and plenty of rest."
It was late in the afternoon of that same day that he saw the lazy curl of chimney smoke in the distance.
"Let's go see if we can make us some new friends," Lewis said as he turned Dolly.
As he approached the small cabin, a hen and her chicks scurried from his path. A dog, roused from his nap, stood on the front porch, barking. He was soon joined by a bald, stoop-shouldered old man dressed in overalls and pointing a shotgun. "State your business," he called out.
"Name's Lewis Taylor, and I'm headed south, to home. Been traveling for a few days. I saw your farm here and was wondering if you might have chores a fellow could do in exchange for a meal."
The shotgun was still pointed in his direction when a woman appeared on the porch and began gently petting the dog, urging him to stop barking.
"I'm known as Preacher Goolsby, and this is my wife, Nina. I'll thank you to remain on your horse until we've done a bit more talking. You carrying a firearm or any other kind of weapon?"
"No, sir."
Goolsby turned to his wife. "I've seen his type before," he said. "You can tell it in his eyes and by the fact he's wearing store-bought clothes. That and the fact no self-respecting traveler would be riding bareback on a horse as broke down as that one appears to be."
He turned to Taylor. "Just got out of prison, I'm guessing."
"Yes, sir."
"You here to knock us in the head and steal our belongings?"
"No, sir."
"Let him get down and stretch his legs," Nina said. "He seems a young man who's repented his sins."
Her husband stared at Lewis for several seconds. "Would that be the case?"
"I did no crime, and I mean you folks no harm."
Goolsby slowly lowered the shotgun. "Come on up and sit on the porch. My wife will fetch you something to wet your whistle while we have us a talk." He tried with little success to hide the fact he was pleased to have company. "You're coming from up at Huntsville, right? Back in the day when I was traveling all over, preaching the Word, I once visited the convicts there. Wasn't a one of them interested in salvation. All they wanted was to get out and return to their evil ways."
"All I'm wanting," Lewis said, "is to get home to Gila Bend, Texas, and resume living my life."
Goolsby stopped short of asking why he'd been in prison. "Let's us take your horse out to the barn and get her fed and watered."
The farm seemed to be on its last leg. As they made the short walk, Taylor could see fences that needed mending, a garden that obviously hadn't been weeded in some time, and the last rays of sunlight streaming into the barn from holes in the roof.
The preacher read his mind. "I'm getting too dang old to properly tend the place," he said. "I had help from my boy before he went off to fight in the war. Got himself killed just a week before the surrender. You serve the Confederacy?"
"Yes. Some of my friends died. Guess I was lucky."
By the time Nina called them to supper, they'd still not discussed any work he could do to earn the meal. She'd fried chicken and boiled collard greens. A loaf of bread, still hot, sat in the center of the small kitchen table.
"You can sleep in the barn tonight," Goolsby said later as his wife cleared the dishes. "If you were serious about earning your keep, maybe you can stay on for a few days. Think about it, and we can discuss it further in the morning.
"Meanwhile, we have us Bible reading every evening before we go to bed, and you're welcome to join in."
"I appreciate the offer," Taylor said, "but I'm feeling a bit tired and would like to get on out to the barn, if you don't mind." He tipped his hat to Mrs. Goolsby. "That was a mighty tasty supper, ma'am."
She smiled. "God bless you, young man. Sleep well."
He had already done the milking and was mucking out one of the stalls when Goolsby entered the barn. He was limping and holding two large cups. ÒGetting harder to get up and going every day,Ó he said. ÒSince you already done my milking, youÕve earned yourself some coffee. If youÕre wanting milk in it, IÕm sure my old cow will gladly oblige.Ó
Taylor put away his rake and sat on a bench with Preacher. "I thought on it last night, and here's an offer I'd like to make, if you're interested," Goolsby said. "Me and the wife have been considering putting the place up for sale, but obviously it needs some work before it might interest a buyer.
"You've probably got ants in your pants, wanting to get home as quick as possible. I can understand that. But if you would be willing to stay on for a few days, working on the fences, patching the roof, things of that nature, I can offer you a modest wage, a place to sleep, and three meals a day. Having already sampled Nina's cooking, I expect you'll consider that the most attractive part of my offer."
Lewis smiled. Getting home was all he had thought about since walking out the prison gate. But the idea of earning a few dollars by working outdoors with no guard standing nearby, constantly cursing him, was appealing.
He extended his hand and accepted Goolsby's offer.
The "few days" stretched into a week, then two, as he worked sunup to sundown, digging postholes, stretching barbed wire, patching the roof of the barn, and clearing weeds from Mrs. Goolsby's garden. He trimmed dead limbs from her blooming pear trees and helped her sturdy the legs on her table and chairs, cleaned the ashes from her stove, and cut firewood.
Each morning, as soon as he'd done the milking, he would release Dolly into the pasture, where she spent the day lazily grazing alongside Goolsby's two mules.
"You're getting some color back in your cheeks," Nina said one morning as he finished breakfast. "You've done fine work for Mr. Goolsby, which I greatly appreciate, but I expect it's near time you get on with your journey. Home's waiting."
"I've been thinking the same thing," Taylor said. That evening, he told Preacher that he'd be leaving the following day.
"Before we start our Bible reading," Goolsby said, "I'd like you to accompany me out to the barn for a minute."
Carrying a lantern, he led Lewis to the door of the small tack room. "Door sticks," he said, "so I'll need you to muscle it open for me."
As Preacher's lantern lit the small area, Lewis saw a saddle astride a sawhorse. "You'll need to soap it good since it hasn't been used in some time," Goolsby said. "It belonged to my boy, God bless his soul. I'd like for you to have it. There's a blanket and halter in here somewhere. And saddlebags . . ."
"I can't . . ."
"Hush up. Of course you can. You should know passing it along was my wife's idea. Like she told me the other day, it wouldn't be right for you to make your return home riding bareback."
As he spoke, Preacher was bent over, rummaging through a dust-coated footlocker. Finally, he stood, holding a pair of boots. "You look to be about the same size as my boy," he said. "Try these on."
As his visitor slipped on the boots, Goolsby said, "My son, he would be about same age as you now." Even in the semidarkness, the sadness in his eyes was visible.
Late into the night, Lewis carefully rubbed soap onto the leather, wiped it away, then repeated the process.
By daybreak he had saddled Dolly, done his final milking, and was ready to be on his way. Nina had filled his saddlebags with corn bread, cakes, and sandwiches. "I also put some matches in a little pouch for campfires," she said, "and Mr. Goolsby found you a canteen, which I filled with hot coffee."
Preacher handed him a twenty-dollar gold piece. "Wish it could be more," he said. "You done fine work and were good company."
Lewis shook his hand and hugged Nina.
"If you're ever back this way," Goolsby said, "it's not likely we'll be here. If we have success selling, we'll probably be moving to one of those boardinghouses filled with old folks. Maybe I can even do a little preaching there if anybody's still got their hearing and good sense."
Nina's eyes teared. "We're gonna miss you, young man," she said. "God be with you. And travel safe. If there's ever anything we can do for you, just let us know."
The spire of the Blessed Redeemer Church appeared in the distance, signaling that Gila Bend was only a short ride away. Lewis resisted the urge to nudge Dolly into a lope, instead using the final stage of his journey to contemplate what awaited him. Five years was a long time to be away, and he struggled to even see his fatherÕs face in his mind, to recall the landscape of the farm and the town, to remember the names of some of those heÕd once called friends.
The only clear image he had, the one that had kept him company in his absence, was of a girl in a gingham dress, her golden hair flowing across her shoulders, her blue eyes sparkling, and her gentle laughter like sweet music. No amount of hard labor, unfair treatment, or time could make one forget a girl like Darla Winslow.
When he reached the entrance to the farm, he stopped to familiarize himself with the place where he'd grown up. The house and barn looked well kept, and the pens were sturdy. Tall stalks of corn waved from the field, and the live oak under which his mother had been buried when he was only a child had grown considerably. Nearby a rooster crowed and a dog barked.
As he sat, letting the familiar sights and smells return, the dog slowly came in his direction, cautiously at first, then at a run. Whisper, the German shepherd Lewis had raised from a pup, was glad to see him.
He was the only one.
Axel Taylor didn't bother to get up from his chair as Lewis made his way onto the porch. "Wasn't expecting company today," he said before taking a final sip of his coffee. His hair was white, so was the stubble of beard that did little to hide the wrinkles on his face. No doubt up since sunrise, he already looked tired.
"Good to see you, Pa."
There was a long silence before a reply. "I see they finally let you out." He looked toward Dolly, who was nibbling on a nearby patch of grass. "Where'd you get that sorry excuse for a horse? You ought to take her down to the barn and see she gets fed. That or put her out of her misery."
Whisper's tail lazily wagged as Lewis scratched behind his ears. "Place looks good. On the way home, I was thinking about all the things I could do to give you a hand now that I'm back," Lewis said, "but you seem to have everything in fine shape."
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