Jesse McCann: The Journey (The McCann Family Saga Book 1) Read online

  “Not exactly”

  “Mr. McCann, will you come out of the creek so I can talk to you? Good thing you held that rifle out of the water. Never know when you might need it to be in working order.” Jesse pulled himself up to the top of the bridge and stood before her with creek water pouring from his body. “So you're the new wolf hunter,” she said.

  “There have been others? What happened to them?” Now he felt the blood rush to his head.

  “Never mind for now. You can ride back to town with me later. Right now I have a sick little girl to look after.”

  Jesse followed her to the one shack where a lantern still glowed. “ What's wrong with her?”

  “She was bitten by a cotton mouth...a water moccasin. They rarely strike unless they feel threatened. These children play in that swampy bog all the time. Snake bite is the least of what can happen. Come in with me and rest a spell. You look a mite pasty.” Jesse felt the girl could see straight through to his discomfort. What was it about her that made him feel foolish? That trait placed him as much on guard as the dangerous position into which he had blindly wandered.

  Upon entering the home with Annie, he noticed a young girl of six or so lying listless and flushed, while several other children slept behind a make do quilt room divider. Annie moved about quietly, making a poultice of a wild plant she called rabbit tobacco. She uncovered the bite marks where her father had cut a criss-cross to suction out as much venom as he could; but later that evening, it was apparent some poison still lingered, as the girl became drowsy and feverish. Annie quickly applied the homemade salve and left the wound uncovered. “There...I expect this will draw up the rest of the venom.”

  The child's mother displayed a smile devoid of teeth, though seeming to Jesse to be no more than age thirty-five. “Thank you kindly, Annie gal. You’re a tribute to your mama, God rest her soul...and your papa...wherever he is...and the granny who raised you. Help yourself to this wild Muscadine brew. It'll cure what ails you...'cept the love bug.”

  The woman held a jar out to Jesse who accepted it and turned the jar to a clean side after noticing the woman's snuff stained mouth. Annie then took the homemade wine and mixed it with sassafras tea from her satchel in a china cup and raised the child from the pillow as she coaxed her to sip the tonic. “This should help break the fever and purify the blood as well. I expect your girl will be on the mend by tomorrow.”

  Jesse studied Annie's face in the glow of the lantern light and saw the shadows of fatigue beneath her gray eyes. Yet she had come all the way to this wilderness after a day's work in Morgans Bluff without complaint. She reminded him of Mama Kate; both were sewn from the same doubly durable fiber. Yet he had to wonder if there was any trait softer and more compliant beneath that resolute exterior.

  “My work here is done,” Annie said as she washed her hands and dried them on her clean apron. I'll take you back to town if you like. What happened to your horse?”

  “I left her tied at the mill office. I suppose you think I was foolish. The horse may have at least had a sense of direction.”

  Annie looked at him intently for a moment before speaking: “If you are on the look out for predators, then maybe its best you are on foot. Even the sound of a wolf or panther can spook a horse into throwing the rider. You wouldn't want to be alone and injured in these woods. It would be daybreak before a search party could find you...or what's left of you.”

  The last sentence was delivered tongue in cheek, and she waited to see his reaction. Annie may have been entertaining herself with the new town clown, but he knew her jest held an element of truth. Although her last comments had been worrisome, she at least agreed on the decision to leave Belle behind. He thought perhaps he might turn out to be a real woodsman. But then came the snide little voice inside his head: I wouldn't be so sure...not after getting lost and having to rely on a female to get you out of the woods.

  Riding double was embarrassing but not unpleasant. Being a no-nonsense woman, Annie had ordered Jesse to wrap his arms around her waist lest he fall off the bumpy bridge over Dead Man's Creek. Part of him felt like a kid whose mother had to come fetch him home; yet the rest of him felt like a man with his arms around a pretty woman.

  After Annie dropped him by the paymaster's office, he rode straight to his room at the hotel where he fell into a deep asleep almost immediately. That night he dreamed of a faceless form that appeared from the forest, only to disappear as he reached out his hand.

  Who are you? What do you want from me?

  He mercifully awakened and sat straight up in bed. From his open window he heard a lone wolf baying at the moon in triumph over the kill or out of desperate loneliness; he knew not whether he had been given an omen that he would soon find his father or that he would met the wolf they called Tahsha. He dearly dreaded both encounters.

  Yet, earlier, the night had moments of bliss when he felt as if, for the first time in his life, he belonged to something outside of himself.

  He could not shake the image of Annie's face by moonlight and the feel of her closeness, so small and vulnerable and yielding to the strength of his arms around her as they rode double. The thought of her made his breath catch; and that feeling scared him more than all the danger that surrounded him. It was a delicious, dizzying form of moonlight madness from which he wished never to recover.

  V: Discovery

  The summer of 1888 was turning out to be, by Buck Hennessy's estimation, “hotter than a billy goat in a pepper patch.” During the season of diminished rain fall, Jesse spent his days outdoors learning to be a decent marksman and a worthy woodsman. In an effort to earn extra pay, he sometimes worked as one of the “river rats” who rolled logs and cleared jams, until his legs and arms grew solid with muscle. At night, he continued to watch and wait for the legendary lone she-wolf. He heard her sometimes when the moon was full. He heard her lonely and unearthly call, and he was drawn to the sound that stirred him to his soul. It knew that it was Tahsha, with her song sung solo, unlike the maddening sound of a chorus of wolves who hunted in packs. She was always a step or two behind him in the darkness, but had not yet made her presence known, preferring instead to watch and wait. But for what?

  Jesse soon turned complacent as the weeks rolled on and even slept on watch, as each hot and humid night came and went on without incident. He was able to keep his room at the hotel, and life fell into comfortable patterns: he ate breakfast every morning in the dining hall where both company scrip and cash were accepted. Annie Morgan waited tables still, her hair pulled up into a tidy bun, her starched apron pristine over her long simple skirt. Their friendship progressed to the point that she began to call him Jess and had even invited him to go with her to the Full Gospel Church. It seemed to Jesse that someone was always trying to reverse his back-sliding ways, all the way back to Mamma Kate. He hesitantly agreed to attend, having no other Sunday social, save playing dominoes at Percy's with a bunch of pie-eyed old men. And so he told Annie yes, he would go with her.

  It seemed most of Morgans Bluff was in church the Sunday Jesse attended: sobered up reprobates and God-gearing saints alike, all turning out for “dinner on the ground” after the final amen left the little white washed church house. Outside, under a brush arbor, a table groaned with with fresh summer vegetables, cured hams and fruit pies, as the women spread quilts under the shade of oaks and sycamores, and the men sipped sweet tea from large glass jars.

  “I wouldn't object if you shared this spot with me, but suit yourself,”Annie said to Jesse in that off-handed manner. Jesse looked down at her sitting there under a shade tree, legs tucked beneath her, wearing her best sage colored serge, her hair down with curls peeking beneath her yellow sun bonnet. He gladly accepted her offer and balanced his plate of food on crossed legs, though awkward it was.

  Looking about, he noticed Mr. Percy and his wife and Buck Hennessy who hobbled around on his wooden leg, cracking jokes with the men, most of whom knew him from the mill. The preacher, who had be
en introduced to Jesse as simply “Brother Wyatt”, sat with his wife and several of his seven children. He was a distinguished looking man whose features seemed to be disguised by a full beard and mustache. His wife, Lorena, though plain and unadorned, smiled sweetly and embraced the other women who looked at her with respect. Yet her eyes did not reflect her smile but remained cool and impenetrable.

  Some of the Wyatt brood were young adults, slightly younger than Jesse himself. They were called in from a game of horseshoes, and seeing them walk toward the table head on, it was obvious to Jesse that they had inherited their father's dark good looks and tall stature. There was more. There was something vaguely familiar about them...something he could not quite comprehend.

  “Brother Wyatt has fine looking children, does he not?” It seemed as if Annie had read his thoughts. “His wife is Lorena Morgan, daughter of Reese Morgan. That preacher and his family are set for life,” she whispered. “...but, don't get me wrong. He's too godly a man to marry for money, 'though my granny thought different. Granny said he came here as a young man...maybe twenty years ago... out of nowhere....not a penny to his name. Yet he was riding the finest golden Palomino she had ever seen, and that seemed off-kilter to her.” Jesse stared at her, fork raised midway to his mouth. He felt his pulse quicken and his throat constrict as he remembered something his mother had said to him: “Never forget, son, that your father stole Grand-mama Kessler’s favorite horse, a golden Palomino, on the day he left. I do believe it grieved her 'til the day she took her last breath!. Whatever the man is or is not, he is for certain a horse thief. Had they found him, they would have strung him to the nearest tree.”

  “You look like you've seen a ghost risen from its grave,”said Annie.

  “Maybe I have,” came his answer.

  Jesse was no fool. He cooled his heels and waited for the crowd to disperse, then finally sent Annie on her way, explaining that he wished to speak to the preacher in private. She was happy enough to leave him there, thinking that he wished to join the flock and mend his ways.

  As the last of the members drifted towards home, Jesse approached the preacher and told him he wished to meet with him, away from his family. He stood within two feet of the man. Now he saw past the ravages of time and full facial hair, to recognized the same pale eyes and aquiline nose of the man in the tin type he carried with him. This respected minister and town leader was an older version of the man whose photograph he treasured. This man was the father he had never known.

  “What is it you need, young man? Are you in need of spiritual guidance?” asked the man who known as Brother Wyatt, as he tucked his bible under his arm and checked his pocket watch.

  “I have a private matter to discuss with you,sir. I've come to you on behalf of Katherine Kessler McCann.” Heart pounding, Jesse waited for the impact of his words to hit their mark to release a long anticipated acknowledgment.

  “Do I know the woman? Have we met? I can not seem to place the name.”

  “I think you know her very well.”

  Brother Wyatt instructed his wife and younger children to wait for him in the buggy, and the older boys stood beside their horses at a distance. He then moved closer to Jesse to speak in hushed tones, and his voice shook with barely controlled rage: “I assure you I do not know the woman and have never heard the name. I suggest you state your business and be on your way. As you can see, I have family waiting.”

  “Alright...if you want me to discuss the matter right here, so be it. Katherine Kessler McCann, as you very well know, is your legal wife...even though she has been convinced that you are dead. I have come here to find you... though at this moment I've no idea why!”

  The preacher moved a step closer, so close that Jesse could see the veins throbbing beneath the tight starched collar. “You are simply confused, boy. I am Elias Wyatt, and this is my church, my people...and you....you are nothing to me or anyone. I'll not have you spreading salacious rumors and ruin my good name. I have never had but one wife, and that is Lorena Morgan...the lady you see right there in that buggy. She is the mother of my children. Do we understand each other?”

  “I understand that you are a bald faced liar.”

  Then seeing the anger in their father's face, the oldest Wyatt boys quickly approached. “Any trouble, Papa?” asked one.

  “None I can't handle, son,” the preacher replied. “We are finished here. Tell your mother I'm on my way.” Before Brother Wyatt turned to walk toward the buggy, those icy blue eyes captured and held Jesse in their grip. “Do not pursue this matter further...else one day you'll rue the day you were born.”

  “At this moment I almost do,” came the ready reply.

  “ See here...I have a wife and seven children,” Wyatt whispered between clenched teeth. “I don't know who you are or who sent you, but go back and report me dead!”

  At that moment, Jesse's boyhood dream of a life with his father blew away like the saw dust from that East Texas mill town.

  What in God's name would he tell his mama?

  VI: Turmoil

  After the confrontation at the church social, Jesse was conflicted about his next move. His mother had remarried, content in the belief that Clinton McCann was dead. If Kate had felt her short marriage was condemned in the eyes of God and the church, due to his divorce, what of her marriage to Jesse's stepfather? It was certainly not a legal union by the laws of man, not with a first husband still alive. Within her own narrow concept of right and wrong, Kate would be shamed once more, her spirit broken yet again if she were given the truth.

  And what of the wife of the so called preacher, Lorena Morgan, daughter of the most prominent business man in East Texas? Was she aware that her marriage was a sham as she bore his children? The only lawful off-spring was the issue of Katherine: Jesse McCann, who proudly wore his father's real name. What a spider's web of trickery and deceit to entangle an innocent young man at its very center.

  Jesse decided to give himself more time before returning home with either damning truth or protective lies . How long he would stay in Morgans Bluff depended on how well he kept his mouth shut. Given these circumstances, Jesse was relieved to be working upon the Big Muddy instead of cutting trees under the watchful eye of the foreman Domingo, whom he had seen from a distance talking with the preacher. Jesse McCann, although no coward, knew when he was out of his league.

  In the meantime, he still earned his living as the wolf hunter by night and river rat by day, separating the log jams that blocked the flow of the sluggish and shallow Big Muddy. Dangerous work it was, leaping from one massive floating log to another,“ busting up” blockages, sometimes even by dynamite if necessary. Jesse became as strong and weathered as a live oak tree. During that time, the saw mill buzzed every day, cutting lumber to be sent by steamboat to towns along the river and to larger ships to be ferried on to Galveston. When there was no rain, the river became too shallow for the steamboat to navigate, and progress was halted. But there was talk of a monumental change in saw mill transport on the near horizon.

  “Yes in deed, ol' Reese Morgan is set to bring the railroad into these woods.” Buck Hennessy, ever the tale bearer, propped his surviving leg on his desk and rolled a cigarette. “ 'Fore you can turn around, they'll be running trams and hauling logs out by rail. Only fly in that ointment is the fact that some folks'll have to give up their land to get the rail through. These so called timber barons and railroad fellas will take the land they need and push the little people aside. Some of these old families have owned the same land since we won our independence! They won’t go easy, I assure you that! Rebellion will rise like corn cobs in a cistern.”

  The mental picture of that last statement made Jesse cringe. He had only come for his pay before heading to town; but, as usual, Buck was wound up and still spinning: “ If they bring in the railroad, Morgan's gonna become the first lumber baron of East Texas. Mark my words. That'll be some legacy to hand down to Morgan's grandsons from preacher man, would it not? You m
et Wyatt did ya? If you ask me that preacher man's as greasy as fried lard, but he does have a following”

  At that point it mattered not to Jesse, although he listened politely. He was running ragged, learning to get by with sleeping four hours late afternoons before his return to the forest patrol come night fall. He had heard the lone wolf upon the hill once again; yet the only run in with trouble had been with the same two loggers who fought their way out of Percy's Tavern his first day in town. They were still at it, tussling their way in and out of each others tents and cussing each other with boundless gusto. Still the wolf had not returned to the camp, and Jesse still got paid. He minded his own business, spent his scrip at company stores on necessities: clothing, a new blanket and saddle for Belle and a decent pair of boots. He had no need of accumulating the brass tokens since they would be worthless any where else, although he was limiting the visits to Percy's tavern. He knew his mama would die rather than see him become a drunkard.

  During those days, Jesse's mind drifted like a dark rain cloud with no will , drifting at the whim of a restless wind. What was there left for him? His only family was the one he left in Mt. Mission, and he was bound to return. He had but one tie to Morgan's Bluff: the girl called Annie. Seeing her each morning as she waited tables at the hotel had become a familiar and cozy respite from grueling work and troubling encounters. Being near her had become as sweet and intoxicating as the Muscadine wine Mr. Percy slipped him now and then for “medicinal purposes”. There was the clean soapy fragrance of her skin, the unexpected, quick smile when he entered the dining room, the way the steel in her gray eyes melted as she glanced his way. Still, he felt the idea of true romance between them was doomed. After the conflict with Brother Wyatt, he could not return to the Full Gospel Church with her; that alone created a barrier between them, because he could not tell her why. Annie had no idea of what had transpired that day last summer. Nor would he burden her with it.