Jack Caldwell - Pemberley Ranch

“My best wishes for your felicity. And you, Miss Beth—still enjoy riding all over creation on Thomas?”

Beth hid a smirk. Not only had George failed to understand the hidden joke of her horse’s name—most people did— he had forgotten it completely. “Turner, sir. Yes, I was just riding this afternoon, in fact, and I was most rudely treated by our neighbor.”

That caught Bennet’s attention. “What happened, my dear?”

Whitehead was most solicitous. “I hope you were not mistreated by a B&R employee, Miss Beth.”

“Oh, no, it was a rider from Pemberley! I had not realized that they owned all of the land across the river. While enjoying my ride, I was intercepted, warned off the land, and escorted off. Why, you’d think I was a cattle rustler by the way I was treated.”

“Were you mistreated, Beth?” her father demanded. “I won’t stand for it! Did anyone threaten you?”

Beth realized she had overstated the case and tried to put the company at ease. “Father, I misspoke. I was indeed informed that I was trespassing, but I must admit that I suffered no hurt to my person, only my feelings. I was not mistreated, either by words or actions. Besides receiving a scolding, I have no complaints, save that I must remain on this side of the river.”

“How rude!” cried Mrs. Bennet in maternal solidarity. “To treat any child of mine so! Tom, you should have a talk with Mr. Darcy about the character of his men.”

Whitehead shook his head. “I’m not certain that would have any effect, Mrs. Bennet. Recall that I know the Darcys well, and they do not take kindly to others telling them how to run their business. I, myself, after having extended the hand of friendship to that family, have also been, as Miss Beth so elegantly put it, ‘warned off’ Pemberley. Who was the man who accosted you, Miss Beth?”

“Accosted is a bit strong, George. As I said, my ride was interrupted by a Pemberley rider, but he didn’t offer his name.”

“I’ll wager I can guess the man. Ruddy-faced man on a brown quarter horse? Wearing a black hat with a silver hatband?”

Beth shook her head. “No, he was tall with a tan hat. Dark hair and clean shaven, like you, and his horse was black.”

Whitehead stared at her. “His eyes—did you note the color of his eyes?”

Beth licked her lips. She had left that part out, for they were the most intense eyes she had ever beheld, but she would not be reticent. “Blue—bright blue.”

Whitehead let out a bark of laughter. “Why, Miss Beth, you’ve met the man himself! That was William Darcy, esteemed owner of Pemberley Ranch, Darcy Bank, and half of Long Branch County! Do you not feel fortunate at such a meeting?”

Beth could not help stealing a glance at Jane. Sure enough, her sister was red in the face with mortification. For the sake of her feelings, Beth labored to defuse the situation. “I’m always happy to meet new people, George, but I can’t vouch for others. As he said, it’s his land, and I shall respect that.” No matter how little I respect him!

“Well said, my dear,” injected her father, “we should always respect other people’s property.”

George did not take the hint to change the subject. “It’s not surprising that you didn’t know who he was, for he is a rather peculiar fellow. He’s practically a hermit, and he keeps his sister close to Pemberley with him. Had you never seen him in town?”

“No, none of us have,” Beth replied.

Mary decided to have her share of the conversation. “We certainly have not seen them in church on Sunday, unlike other respectable members of the community.”

How like Mary to note that! Beth considered. But it was true. The Darcys did not attend services at the church in town, while Catherine Burroughs and her daughter, Anne, made a very notable procession every Sunday to their reserved pew in the front. Sheriff Lucas, Doctor Bingley, and George Whitehead were all members in good standing of Reverend Henry Tilney’s congregation.

“Well,” Whitehead grinned, “we are commanded to be faithful, yet we are all poor sinners. But what can you expect from a man who has taken up arms against his country?” Beth winced a little at the latest disparagement of Darcy, knowing how it would give Jane pain, as the same could be said of Charles.

Finally, Mr. Bennet roused himself to take control of his dinner table. “Any news from town, George? We’ve been very busy here with harvest time upon us.”

“Yes, a new family has just moved in east of town in the new settlement—the Washingtons, a former slave family from Louisiana, looking for a better life out here.”

Bennet frowned. “East of town, George? You mean that land near the river?”

“That’s the place.”

Bennet pursed his lips. “It’s a bit low there, don’t you think? Wouldn’t you say that land’s prone to flooding?”

Whitehead stared at Bennet for a moment, his face made of stone. He blinked and a shy grin grew across his face. “Well, I’m no expert about that, Tom. I’m only the recorder of deeds. Mrs. Burroughs sells the land. But I’ve been here four years, and I’ve never seen any flooding in the new settlements.”

Bennet shrugged his shoulders as he sipped his coffee. “If you say so, George.”

“Well,” cried Mrs. Bennet, “if everyone’s finished—no seconds, Mr. Whitehead? Are you sure? Well then, girls, help me clear the table for dessert. Blackberry cobbler!”

William and Gabrielle Darcy walked the small man in the black cassock to his carriage. “I’m pleased you could join us for dinner, Father.”

Father Joseph smiled as he spoke in a heavy Spanish accent. “No, my son, it is I who should thank you, your sister, and most particularly your cook, Mrs. Reynolds!”

“Oh, Father,” said Gaby, “you’re welcome anytime.” She curtsied as he took first her hand and then her brother’s, before making the Sign of the Cross over them in blessing.

“May Our Father bless you and all here.” The priest climbed into his carriage.

“Go with God, Padre!” Will shouted as the brother and sister waved in farewell.

“That there’s a good man, even if he does wear a dress,” drawled Richard Fitzwilliam, leaning on a column next to the steps leading down from the veranda.

“Maybe you should come to Mass with us sometimes, Fitz,” said Gaby. “It’ll do you good.”

Fitz laughed. “Me? All that kneelin’ an’ bowin’ an’ such? Thank you kindly, Miss Gaby, but that ain’t for me.”

Gaby shook her head in fond resignation as she continued into the house. Will and Fitz sat down in two rocking chairs on the veranda and lit cigars. “Heard ’bout the latest homesteaders come to town?” Fitz began. “Former slaves bought some o’ that bottomland from your cousin, like the rest o’ them.”

Darcy closed his eyes for a moment. “Damn!”

“Yeah,” Fitz took a puff, “don’t know how folks ’round here will cotton to a family of former slaves movin’ in.”

Darcy glanced at his friend and ranch foreman. “You’ve got a point, Fitz, but that’s not what I meant. You’re not from around here. There’s a reason that land’s lay fallow ’til now. It’s low and prone to flooding. I remember back in ’55 when the Long Branch came up from its banks after a heavy storm. It’s been dry ever since, but that won’t last. We get one big rain, those people in the new settlement will have three to four feet of water in their homes.”

“Your cousin, Mrs. Burroughs, must know that. Why’s she sellin’?”

“Oldest reason in the world—money. Whitehead and that fancy-pants bank manager of hers, Collins, talked Cate into it.”