Cactus Flower (Gone-to-Texas Trilogy) Read Free

voice as she said, “Mama, don't keep pesterin' Richard Lee ‘bout that manners business for me, please.”
           “And why shouldn't I? Look at you, Chastity! The poorest colored boy in the county dresses better than you!”
           “Smells better, too,” teased her brother, catching a whiff of squirrel entrails and river bottom slime.
           “Harumph. That all the thanks I get for bringing in three big squirrels for tonight's dinner, Richard Lee! I knocked one out of the top of that ole cottonwood by the bend of the creek. You shoulda seen that sucker drop! Clean head shot, by damn!”
           “Chastity! You know better than to use such language and act so crudely! Go to your room and I'll have Lizzie heat your bath water. I've laid out a lovely dress for you to wear.”
           “I only wanted to show Richard Lee I could make it in Texas, Mama. I'm sorry.” As if heading to her execution, Charlee trudged forlornly toward her room, the bath, and the dress.
     
    * * * *
     
           Dawn streaked the eastern sky with vivid fuchsias, and reds as the sun ascended in a molten ball of fire. Richard Lee finished tying the last of his packs to his brown gelding's saddle. He had just bid farewell to his tearful mother in the house and was eager to be on his way.
           ‘Time to go, little sis. Gonna be a scorcher again today, and I better get me a good start on the heat.” Charlee was special to him, and seeing the tears welling up in her big green eyes, he leaned down and planted a kiss on her nose. “Now, don't take on so. I'll be a big impresario down there before you know it, an’ we'll all be rich, kitten.”
           “You can't be an impresario now, Richard Lee,” Charlee replied in exasperation. ‘That was only when Texas belonged to Mexico, and they gave big land grants to men who brought in settlers,” she said with smug twelve-year-old dignity. Then she added teasingly, “You ain't the onliest one who reads newspapers, big brother.”
           “Well, Texas is an independent country now, little cat, and the Texian government is still offerin' free land, over six hundred acres for a single man! Why, Sis, you can't imagine how big the place is—it goes on clear to sundown. I'll stake me a claim and get me some of them wild mustangs 'n longhorn cows. We're gonna be rich. Just you wait 'n see!”
           “Then why can't I come along now? I can ride 'n I can shoot. I'm a hell of a better shot 'n you, admit it, Richard Lee McAllister! I can tan deer hides 'n bake bread, skin out a rabbit or pluck a wild turkey clean in two shakes of a mule's ass. I can—”
           “You sound like one of them terrible river men, with all your braggin' and swearin', Charlee. You know how much Mama wants you to be a lady. You have to stay here and grow up for her, the way she wants. Dad and I were wrong to take you with us so much, like you was another boy. It ain't fittin' for a girl. Look, I promise to send for you as soon as it's safe, and to show you I mean it...” He took her hand and they trudged from the barn down toward the spring-fed creek, where a tall stand of cottonwood trees grew.
           The tallest one was their carving tree, gnarled and scarred from the use of their whittling knives. Richard Lee and Charlee had recorded all the triumphs and tragedies of their young lives on it; their birth dates, his first girlfriend's name, her first kitten's name, the date he shot his first deer. Now, he gravely took out his knife and attacked a smooth place, carving a large rectangular box on it. Inside the box he carved “G. T. T.,” then his initials, “R. L. M.,” and the date, August 18, 1836. Just below that line in bold letters he whittled “C. C. M.” “As soon as I send for you 'n Mama, you come down here and fill in that date.”
           “What does 'G. T. T.' mean, Richard Lee?” Her eyes were wide and bright green in