The Fence

By Gary B. Boyd

Ephraim Calvert wanted one thing: freedom from his past. Without the constraints of his past looming over him like a dark cloud, he could enjoy the life he deserved. The Texas frontier offered the opportunity to start anew and to rid himself of his past.

Ephraim learned that everyone has a past and everyone has secrets. Secrets define people. To guard their secrets, people build fences. Before his struggle to build a good future on the wreckage of the past could be successful, he had to understand the secrets and accept the fences. Texas was worth the fight, no matter the cost.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Oct 31, 2018
• ISBN: 9781546266723

Gary B. Boyd

Gary B. Boyd is a story teller. Whether at his cabin in the Ozark Mountains, at his desk in his home or on his deck overlooking Beaver Lake near Rogers, Arkansas, he writes his stories. His travels during his business career brought him in touch with a variety of people. Inquisitive, Gary watches and listens to the people he meets. He sees in them the characters that will fill his stories … that will tell their stories. A prolific author with more than a dozen published titles and a head full of tales yet to share, Gary submits to his characters and allows them to tell their own stories in their own way. The joy of completing a novel doesn’t lessen with time. There are more stories to tell, more novels to write. Gary expects to bring new characters to life for years to come. www.garybboyd.com

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© 2018 Gary B. Boyd. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Published by AuthorHouse 10/31/2018

ISBN: 978-1-5462-6673-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5462-6672-3 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018913052

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Dedication

PART TWO

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

Chapter VII

Chapter VIII

Chapter IX

Chapter X

Chapter XI

Chapter XII

Chapter XIII

Chapter XIV

Chapter XV

PART ONE

Chapter XVI

Chapter XVII

Chapter XVIII

Chapter XIX

Chapter XX

Chapter XXI

Chapter XXII

Chapter XXIII

Chapter XXIV

Chapter XXV

PART THREE

Chapter XXVI

Chapter XXVII

Chapter XXVIII

Chapter XXIX

Chapter XXX

Chapter XXXI

Chapter XXXII

Chapter XXXIII

Chapter XXXIV

Chapter XXXV

Chapter XXXVI

Chapter XXXVII

Chapter XXXVIII

DEDICATION

One can but wonder how a creative work would be without the assistance of caring family and friends. I will never know because I am blessed with dedicated supporters.

My wife Shirley and my daughter Tina are by my side to guide my hand as I struggle to stay on task, to keep the story sane and to edit my work.

PART TWO

CHAPTER I

Caleb Calvert rode his pony hard. Too hard. He used the ends of the reins like a quirt, back and forth from one side to the other in hurried fashion. He leaned forward over the horse’s withers and urged the little gelding onward by scraping his boot heels across its flanks, synchronized with the reins’ motion. He was panting, almost as much as the little horse. He raced the pony through the yard gate, ran it past the unpainted house, and yanked its head back to a roiling stop in front of an open-sided lean-to next to a small, rail corral. Horses in the corral pranced and nickered in response to the running horse. Dust kicked into the air as he breathlessly exclaimed, Daddy, I seen a bunch of men buildin’ a fence!

Ephraim looked up from his anvil as soon as he heard his son’s horse’s hooves pounding the summer dried sod. He scowled at the dust that billowed into the forge shed … and at his son. He used a gloved hand to vainly swish dust away from his sweaty, bearded face. The horse was lathered, and its sides were heaving. Boy, he barked angrily, don’t be riding that horse hard! And talk right. Didn’t your momma teach you the right way to talk? Ephraim believed in discipline, as a way to live one’s life and as a means to encourage one to live a disciplined life.

Ephraim and Madeline Calvert’s ranch was in the middle of nowhere in the Texas Panhandle. Their ranch was new. The red Panhandle soil was fertile. Ideally suited for wild prairie grasses. The rains were unpredictable, like everywhere else. Ephraim bought two sections of land because it was easy to buy. Texas wasn’t fully settled. Lots of space for the adventurous and industrious. Land was cheap, especially for migrating Army veterans from the Northern states - their reward for a job done well. American Indians ancestrally claimed the land as theirs, but neither the Texas Government nor the United States Government honored their claims. Only white settlers had rights in the eyes of the Government. Blue clad cavalry soldiers - and civilian prejudice - dealt with the indigenous people as needed. The land that was ruled by Mexico only two generations earlier needed white settlers. In particular, Texas needed settlers willing to support the Federal Government, to create a Union presence in the largest - and largely unsettled State – to regain admittance as a State. The war was over; had been for more than three years. That fact was hard to tell when dealing with native white Texans, but the opportunity for a bountiful life was worth the effort – most of the time. Ephraim made the decision to move from Illinois in his first year after joining the Army. Things he learned about life in general and about himself in particular fed that decision. Making that move to Texas gradually became his choice the more he heard about the Lone Star State.

I’m sorry, Daddy, fifteen-year-old Caleb replied as he bounced off his bareback, unshod pony. I thought you should know that someone is putting a fence on the west line.

Ephraim didn’t lose his scowl as he pondered his third son’s words. Running the little pony that hard in the heat of the day was too serious to overlook easily. The Good Lord had seen fit to provide the pony, an unusually docile mustang, and He wouldn’t take kindly to its mistreatment. Ephraim lifted his hat and wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his gloved hand. The forge was hot, even though three of the cobbled-together building’s sides were open. There was no breeze … and it was Texas summer. The building only provided hot shade and protection from rain for the forge, the latter being the more important.

Twelve-year-old Enoch stopped pumping the leather forge bellows, eager to hear what his older brother had to say. What kinda fence? the boy asked, curiosity too strong to wait for his father to ask.

Caleb looked from Ephraim to Enoch, hesitant to respond without permission from his father. In his impetuous haste, he had violated one of his Army veteran father’s strongest rules … take care of the horses. He didn’t want to add to his transgressions. He finally saw a look that granted him permission to continue … and provided hope that his father had moved past the error in judgement. They have a wagonload of split posts and rails. It looks to be some kind of rail fence.

Ephraim’s scowl faded. He responded, That’s a lot of fence to build – if they’re going all the way across the west line. Maybe they’re building some working pens – for branding and such. We did the same thing ourselves. What did they say about it? He appreciated his son’s concern for the best interest of the ranch, but he didn’t like overreaction based upon limited understanding. He always thought things through before acting, sometimes to the point of overthinking. Ephraim wasn’t one to jump to conclusions.

I didn’t ask. I reckoned that was for you to do, what with them blocking our access to range. Caleb glanced over his shoulder toward the single-story house. He didn’t know very much about raising cattle in Texas, but he had heard his father make comments that the open range laws in Texas would make raising cattle easier than it was back in Illinois. It’s almost lunchtime, ain’t it?

Isn’t it, corrected Ephraim. I suppose it’s always lunchtime to you boys. Go eat. I’ll find out what’s going on with the fence in due time. He looked at Caleb’s pony, a three-year old stray that wandered in from the open range, drawn by the small herd of horses owned by the Calverts. But, first, get your pony some water and rub him down. I don’t want to see you do that again … not unless you’re being tailed by hostile Comanches.

Enoch started to walk away from his task at the bellow.

Not you, Enoch. We have shoes to make. Keep that fire hot. Ephraim kept a supply of horseshoe blanks on hand, blanks that he made in his forge from bought steel bars. Keeping the horses shod was a continual task on a ranch. Most of the farmers and ranchers he met while in Texas trimmed their horses’ hooves regularly to prevent painful splitting of the wall. Usually, they only put shoes on draft animals because of the extra load on the hooves. As an Army officer, he believed all horses should be fitted with metal shoes. The shoes protected the horses’ hooves. Without hooves, no horse. An officer without a horse was just another infantryman. That was the Army way. Having shoe blanks available meant he could quickly replace shoes in an emergency. Only Caleb’s mustang pony had escaped being shod. Its hooves were naturally adapted and better suited to being shoeless. The little horse refused to accept a saddle, but … remarkably … allowed Caleb to ride on its back without much fuss. Without a brand or ear mark, the Calverts accepted it into the family … after castration - a high price to pay for room and board.

After two full years, Ephraim was settled into his chosen condition. Wide-open space and no close neighbors meant freedom. It also meant the family had to be on the look-out for danger and be able to deal with it without assistants. The nearest Army garrison in Texas was at Fort Griffin, part of a north to south line of forts known as the Texas frontier protection system. The fort was four-days saddle-time south and east of the Calvert ranch. A scattering of trading settlements created a tenuous supply line for the farmers and ranchers and new settlers in the Panhandle area. Each county could have an elected constable, but in reality, the Texas Rangers provided the only non-military law enforcement in the sparsely settled land. And there were too few of them.

To the west, the Llano Estacado lifted the elevation of the land higher, forming the high desert. Ephraim and his family were several hard miles from that region. Their ranch was almost centered between the still small Canadian and Red rivers, on a rolling plain with high potential for crops and cattle. His time on Steven Hodges’ farm in Illinois killed his desire to grow crops, so his choice was to raise cattle. Free ranging cattle and horses, most abandoned either by Spanish conquerors generations before or because of the war and the continual battle with the indigenous tribes who insisted the land was theirs, were available for the taking. Just brand them to claim them; brands were respected by honest settlers. The Indians, mostly Comanches with occasional forays by Apaches and Kiowas, raided for food and to make a statement about land rights. Cattle and horses were easy prey, often taken on the open range without knowledge of the rancher until herding time. Unfortunately, an unsuspecting cow rider could happen upon a raiding party, which usually spelled disaster. A ready rifle and the skills to use it were a must. A handgun was a nicety, mostly for snakes and last ditch stands.

Returning, disgruntled Confederate soldiers roamed freely in the open ranges of Texas, searching for a place to reestablish roots. Many farms and large ranches had been confiscated by the Confederacy to support the war effort, then those government properties were further confiscated by the Federal Government after the war. No one could imagine the chaos that ensued as those damaged men tried to reclaim their lives, traveling singly or in small groups. They were ready to seek retribution from anyone and everyone who appeared to have profited from their losses. And there were the lucky ones, the ones who did have something of their former lives available to them. All bitter. All seeking their own brand of justice.

Land owned by Confederate soldiers before the war was returned to them if they could be reattached within a reasonable period of time after the armistice. The definition of reasonable was up to the local government, represented by Federally appointed commissioners, generally stationed in Army forts or, mostly, in Austin - all too far away to have all the facts. If the previous owner, or his heirs, couldn’t be located during that reasonable time, the land was sold to raise money to pay the war debt and fund government operations. Land redistribution and reapportionment were among the many harsh realities in post-war Texas.

Ephraim Calvert’s west property line was two miles long. He owned two sections of land, each one-mile square, six-hundred-forty acres each, end-to-end north and south. The east and west borders ran compass north and south along a straight line hastily marked by government surveyors. The markings were clearly defined by piles of rocks and wooden stakes, done before his migration from Illinois to the panhandle of Texas, done in anticipation of white immigrants who could change the balance of sentiment in the former Confederate state with sheer numbers. Political emotions were still strong between the North and the South. The Government didn’t want to add to those emotions because of property disputes between neighbors, so they marked those lines well.

The land in that part of Texas was fertile. Not as good as the black soil of southern Illinois, but fertile enough to grow prairie grasses and graze cattle. Longer growing seasons made up for the differences in fertility. Some of the earlier settlers in the area grew crops on the soil – if they could access irrigation water. Ephraim’s particular piece of ground had a live stream. The previous owner had built stone and earth dams every half mile or so to impound pools of water for the dry times. The property Ephraim owned was once part of a large cotton plantation, a tribute to the previous owner’s ingenuity and determination, not just to his skills in agronomy, but also to his transportation skills. Cotton was of no value until it got to market. The Red River, even though it was small and shallow, was the method used to barge the huge bales of cotton from the interior to the coast. Ephraim shuddered to think about the ramshackle, wood plank shanties that he had dismantled for the lumber to build his house. He reckoned those meager structures were housing for black slaves, forced to labor in the cotton fields out there in the middle of nowhere.

Because Ephraim was a war veteran, mustered out as a captain in the 77th Infantry Regiment, Ephraim had an advantage over most immigrants into Texas. The Federal Government offered Union veterans public land in Texas at a reduced price, essentially free if he remained for five years and improved the land. He knew the land offered was most likely confiscated from wealthy Texas landowners as part of the Reconstruction process. He didn’t care. It was land he could own. All he had to do was live on it. His stint in the infantry as an officer exposed his love for riding horses. He thought very little of plowing behind them. He chose to raise cattle on the land he settled. And, it was his land, not land owned by Steven Hodges like back in Illinois.

Madeline – Maddy - was not happy about leaving her family farm; the farm that her brothers would inherit when her father died; the farm that neither she nor Ephraim would ever own because she was female … and he was not blood; the land where her brothers would be gracious enough to allow her and Ephraim to live as long as they wanted. Ephraim didn’t care about her feelings on the subject of leaving the grasp of Steven Hodges. He had little faith in her brothers’ charity - or their character. He learned about life and freedom while in the Army. Away from his wife’s family, he learned that he had other options, good options with a future he could forge. Away from the suffocation of the Hodges farm, he was able to see the oppressiveness of his life under Steven Hodges’ thumb. With his own land, he could be his own man, not beholden to anyone. She was his wife. It was her duty to follow him. He insisted. The military had also taught him how to command, to be decisive. He was not subservient or beholden to anyone, especially not to Steven Hodges.

During his time in the Union Army, most of his early battles were in Arkansas, flare-up skirmishes that started and ended quickly with the Rebels scattering to regroup for another try. In general, the people of that state were split down the middle as to which side of the conflict to support. He heard a lot of talk about Texas from the Arkansawyers, almost as if it was a fabled land. Everyone seemed to know someone who had packed up and moved to the land of milk and honey, where vast amounts of land were available to settlers. In the midst of a bloody war, talk about a revered place called The Alamo defined Texas more than anything else – hardy, rugged and independent. Even people outside of Texas were proud of Texas, inspired by what the Texans had achieved in less than three decades. In less than thirty years, the Texans won their freedom from an oppressive dictatorial Mexican regime, established themselves as a nation, and then joined the United States under conditions of their choosing. There were very few battles in Texas during the war, but Texas sent thousands of soldiers into the other States, even into Arkansas. He admired their fierce tenacity in battle, even when he fought against them.

Everything Ephraim learned about personal freedom made him hungry to escape his life in Illinois. Everything he heard about Texas, the pride he saw on the faces of every Texan he met, piqued his curiosity about that State. Texas pulled at his mind throughout the war. Cattle and wide-open land for the taking in Texas offered him an opportunity away from the plow and row crops on Maddy’s family’s farm. He wanted to be a Texan.

The house Ephraim and the boys erected was small, quickly built near a fresh water well, made from available timber and shanty boards to shelter his large family until he had time and resources to build a better house, a house that would represent their success. Success came on the hooves of cattle, not living quarters – though Maddy might argue the point if she thought he would listen. Ephraim didn’t feel compelled to listen to her as he once did … as he once had to … on her Daddy’s farm.

The money to start the ranch came from money Ephraim secretly saved from his meager military pay. Maddy didn’t need the money to survive; she was safe at home on her Daddy’s farm, being fed and housed as if Ephraim didn’t matter – so he saved. Even a little money set aside each month added up to a tidy amount in three full years. The idea of Texas didn’t spring out of nowhere as an impulse. If it wasn’t Texas, it would have been somewhere else, but the stars were aligned to make Texas available at the right time and for the right price. Unlike Maddy, Ephraim didn’t fear the worst when he was conscripted. He refused Steven Hodges’ offer of three-hundred dollars to buy out his conscription, as the old man had done for his own sons. As far as Ephraim was concerned, the money offered by Steven would just be one more tentacle of control. When he left the farm and rode off to battle, he knew she expected that was the last time she would see him, that her future would be without him, that her children would be fatherless. He firmly believed he could – would - survive the war; he was less sure that he could survive a lifetime under the thumb of Steven Hodges and his sons. His savings plan began as soon as he realized life anywhere outside of Illinois was his only option, his family’s only option – and a real possibility.

The early years of marriage were blinded by love and babies. Ephraim was willing to endure the worst that Steven Hodges could mete out in exchange for the love of his life, his Maddy. By the time Ephraim was called to war, he had come to recognize that the father’s overbearing demeanor was inherent in the daughter, though she used tears and whining to get her way rather than authoritarian domination. He needed to get away from the oppression, the shackles he felt were tight around his ankles - and going to war was a way. On the farm, there was one way and that was Steven Hodges’ way. Pillow-talk complaints fell on deaf ears, or worse, were met with angry words reminding him that everything he had was through the generosity of Steven Hodges. What Ephraim learned in the military, away from the influence of the Hodges family, gave him the strength to seek his dream. His obscured vision cleared in the smoke of battle. Texas it was to be, though he didn’t know it at the time.

Steven Hodges did a poor job of hiding his anger when Ephraim announced they were leaving for Texas. Ephraim hoped the man would make a physical move toward him. Three years of continual fighting, seeing men die … or worse … fueled his desire to physically beat the man he grew to despise - if he could. It didn’t happen. He left with that question unanswered, with that dream unsatisfied.

Two of Ephraim’s brothers died during the war. He knew his mother and father felt the same pangs of loss while watching him and Maddy ride away with their children, the grandchildren. Ephraim knew that he would probably never see his parents again, but it was a small price to pay to escape the suffocation of Steven Hodges, to gain his freedom. It hurt, but the dream was real. A few neighbors dropped by to wish them luck before they left. Even Patrick O’Bannon, the fifty-something, perpetually smiling Irishman who always flirted with the farm wives like a school boy, stayed long enough to eat supper the evening before departure. The ruddy-faced man was an incorrigible rascal with his ribald sense of humor, but always ready to help a neighbor. After the war, the cherub-faced man seemed to always be underfoot.

Ephraim located his house on a high spot covered with mature live oak trees near the east center of his two sections of land. Twelve-hundred eighty acres of rolling prairie land, cut by a couple of wind and water formed ridges and deep washes spread north, south and west of his hurriedly built, though solid, house. Most of the house’s frame and structure was formed using gnarled trunks of native oak trees, hard to hew but available. The exterior and interior walls utilized salvaged boards taken from the shanty town and dilapidated work sheds on the property, half a mile from the trees and water well. The Calvert house came from slave quarters no longer needed. The boards needed paint, but paint cost money and he used most of his money to buy fifty cows, three bulls and a year’s supply of staple goods for the new ranch.

The particular spot where he built his house offered cooling shade and a reasonably central location to his new grassland. That house would be the headquarters of his upstart ranch. Ephraim and his sons, all healthy and hard, used crosscut saws and axes to harvest enough timbers to build the log and board house. With their adzes and hours of sweat, they managed to hew enough thick, oak boards to provide a strong frame and sturdy floorboards. The shanty lumber provided everything else except the roof. The roof was shake. It was hard work to split shake shingles from the twisted grain of the live oak wood, but by the time they were finished, the family had a five-room house that protected them from the elements. Ephraim had plans for additional rooms and a second floor – and paint, but all that would have to wait until his herd was stable and he could sell some calves. He knew the demand for beef, meat and leather, was increasing in the North – especially in the eastern cities. The cities of central Texas needed the same products, as did other white settlements throughout the Southwest. Cow riders were gathering range cattle and driving them to settlements in New Mexico. There was an unstoppable market for cattle. His herd would be allowed to grow until he had enough annual calf production to sustain his family. In the meantime, he relied on his family’s settler-spirit to reap from the land what they needed to survive.

Two years of work had brought him to the point where he was on the day when the fence-builders came. His herd had grown. The soil was fertile for grass and the cows were fertile for calves. In total, he had over one-hundred twenty head of the rangy breed of Mexican cattle that thrived in the heat and seasonal forage, the Longhorns. The cows were ripe for bearing, and their heifers would begin to breed soon. Running on open-range land, the herd mingled blood with other bulls. Ephraim wasn’t sure if that was good or bad, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. He also added several more cows and calves from the wild herd by burning his brand into their shoulders. His brand was simply an encircled EC on the right shoulder, seared there using a branding iron that he forged himself and registered at a trade settlement on the banks of the Red River, the closest thing to a seat of government within miles. A fence across the west line would impede the movement of his cattle, restrict their access to grasses that would grow and die without being used if cows didn’t eat them. It wouldn’t stop his ranch from growing but growing the herd would require more thought and planning.

Settling into post-war West Texas was not easy for a Yankee. Ephraim didn’t make it a point to broadcast his Yankee roots. He had no desire to stir that pot. Azariah was less reserved about his Yankee pride and general disdain for the traitors who killed his uncles. Ephraim worried that the young man’s anger would lead to trouble if it went unchecked. Also of concern, the second son, Benjamin, a relatively quiet and studious worker, fed off his older brother’s dislike for the Confederate soldiers … and Southerners in general. Maddy frequently interjected her distaste for Southerners by reminding the family they should have remained in Illinois among their own kind. Ephraim hoped his sons would settle on the right side of compassion for the men who lost the war. Lincoln, a Son of Illinois, had called for acceptance and forgiveness before he was slain by an angry Southerner. As far as Ephraim was concerned, it was their duty to not further the hate created by the war, hate that only grew more intense after Lincoln’s assassination.

The few staple items that Ephraim and his family couldn’t produce required visits to trading settlements that were scattered across the wide landscape, generally near the banks of the Canadian or Red rivers. The closest such settlement was around Baxter’s Station on the Red River. Most of the traders only cared about a man’s money, as long as that money was not Confederate script. Even during the war, the Southern money carried little value on the frontier. Gold and silver were the only safe currency, regardless of mint.

Local Texans, especially returning soldiers, were quick to anger when they discovered Ephraim was a carpetbagger. Their opinion of the Calverts was clearly contained within that single word. That was the primary reason Ephraim kept his roots to himself and cautioned his family to do the same.

Texas’ fortunes and misfortunes before, during and after the war cast a spell on the citizens. Everyone had seen, or at least heard, about riots and commandeering of property within the Texas Army ranks as the war came to its inevitable conclusion, the conclusion forewarned by Sam Houston when he refused to pledge allegiance to the Confederacy. Some citizens fled to Mexico with the last Confederate Texas Governor, Pendleton Murrah. Governor Murrah tried to exhort the Texas Army to stay in the battle, to win the war that the rest of the South had lost. But, the end was the end.

A pall fell over the true Southern sympathizers. They couldn’t leave their beloved Texas, even at the urging of someone such as Governor Murrah who promised hopes for the Southern way in Mexico. More painful to accept was the fact that they couldn’t return to the life and traditions that existed before the war. However, they could make life miserable for Yankee carpetbaggers. Anyone new was initially greeted with suspicion and distrust. Most of them shunned their new neighbors. A few took matters to whatever level of violence their stomachs could bear.

Ephraim brought his family into Texas at that ugly time. He steeled himself against the glares, muttered words, intentionally blocked paths when he took the family to a trading settlement. He felt the pain in Maddy’s eyes when the Texas women lifted their heads and cast her as pariah. In the barely more than two years after they claimed their land, the boys had been unable to make friends with any of their peers, male or female.

Caleb’s encounters devolved into fist fights and wrestling matches if Ephraim wasn’t there to hold the boy’s temper in check. Caleb was rebellious by nature and unafraid of confrontation. Ephraim feared his third son was the most likely to be goaded into some rash action.

Azariah, the oldest, ignored the Texans after the first few encounters. He despised them, for the war they started, for the war that they lost, and the defeat they would not accept. He was as determined as Ephraim to make the Texas ranch a success, as much to prove his worth to the Texans as for the financial gain. Ephraim saw the fire smoldering beneath Azariah’s steady exterior. More than once, he heard his son mutter the words, I’d like to beat some sense into those thickskulled Rebels.

Benjamin, sixteen, the second born, was generally quiet but he allowed Azariah’s passions to be his.

Dinah, the only surviving girl of three conceived, was thirteen and too busy learning and performing the duties of a woman to be distracted by the actions of people outside the family. Even at thirteen, she was a pretty girl, showing signs of womanhood too early. The young men at the trading settlements were less likely to shun her completely, so she didn’t feel snubbed like the rest of the family, though the young men’s intentions were questionable.

Enoch, twelve and curious, watched and learned. His greatest fault was that he was easily distracted by the world around him and engaged everyone in conversation even when discussion was unnecessary.

Gideon was ten. He worshipped Azariah, wanted to be like his oldest brother. Azariah accepted the role of hero to his brother. Gideon was deeply focused on any chore he was assigned, sometimes to the point of being oblivious to everything else around him.

Isaiah was nine, a younger version of Enoch but more so. A frog could distract him from his chores as he tried to understand how the frog could jump so far. He would imitate the action, hoping to learn from the frog, and leave his chores undone.

Jedediah complained a lot for an eight-year old. Ephraim usually ignored the boy when handing out work assignments because the boy would shirk the chores in favor of whining about some real or imagined infraction by an older sibling. It was easier to give the small tasks to one of the others – or do it himself - than to engage Jedediah. Ephraim was not as patient with the behaviors of others as he once was; Steven Hodges and the war caused that.

Levi was seven-years old and underfoot. Ephraim knew the boy was vying for his attention. There was an overabundance of work to be done, but Levi was too small to accomplish much. Even so, the boy wanted to be involved. Ephraim tried to accommodate his eager son, but much of the work was too hard or dangerous for a child.

Malachi was three, born during that first year after Ephraim’s return from the war. Malachi was a surprise in a way; almost as much of a surprise as was Ephraim’s safe return at the end of the war. Ephraim tried to be careful when he returned to the Hodges farm because he knew his plans would be stymied by another child, a baby; but, almost overnight, Maddy was pregnant. The boy was born weak, frail of body and spirit. The fact Malachi survived his first year was a miracle in Ephraim’s mind. The trek south through Missouri and Arkansas and then west all the way across Texas was arduous, difficult even for the older children. Ephraim kept materials for a small cross in one of the supply wagons that the family used for their two-month journey. He fully expected to plant it before they reached their destination. He still had doubts about the boy, though Maddy gave Malachi her full support, sometimes to the detriment of others in the family. He wondered if his acceptance of Malachi’s inevitable fate, his perceived indifference toward the boy, spurred Maddy to extra efforts just to show him he was wrong.

Maddy was thirty-six, two years junior to Ephraim. Giving birth to her children had taken a toll on her body, especially her back. Calcium deficiency affects mother’s bones, and eventually weakens the offspring. Ephraim knew she ached from carrying Malachi on her hip as she went about her duties. The boy wasn’t big, but he was too old to be carried. His frequent comments on the subject were rebuffed with angry eyes. He was sure she continued the unnecessary and potentially harmful action to spite him. He tried to keep his thoughts bottled, and more, he was extremely cautious to not create another baby inside his wife. He still loved her, but the war changed her more than it changed him.

The Calverts were interlopers in the eyes of the Texans. Even in an unsettled land, they were outsiders. Ephraim sometimes wondered if they would ever fit in, if they would ever be accepted, if the boys would ever be able to find mates. They only ventured off their ranch to buy staples twice a year, largely to avoid conflict with the native Texans. But, Ephraim never once wavered in his desire to build his ranch, to make his mark in his new State, to enjoy his freedom.

CHAPTER II

Ephraim finished his forge work and ate a portion of eggplant coated with cornmeal and fried in bacon grease before he saddled and mounted his bay mare.

Maddy was a good cook, even with the limited resources available, though he reckoned Dinah played a big part in preparing the midday meal. As the only girl, Dinah carried a heavy load helping Maddy care for the household with nine male siblings. Maddy was … chose to be … burdened with the youngest. Malachi was still frail, too frail. The Texas Panhandle weather, along with the lack of civilized amenities on the new ranch, was hard on the red-haired boy, the only ginger on either side of the family.

The mare was pregnant. Ephraim would have to pasture her before too much longer. He wouldn’t risk losing the foal by overexerting his favorite mount. Horses were more valuable than cattle. Azariah mounted a gray stud, his mount for the ride with Ephraim. The horse was headstrong, but so was Azariah. Since the war, since his own experience in the saddle, Ephraim was convinced that Azariah was a natural on horseback. So was Caleb, but in a less sophisticated way.

The area where Caleb said the fence-builders were working was more than a mile from the Calvert house. The rolling terrain was overgrown with a mix of prairie grasses and saplings. Stray patches of untended, volunteer cotton plants spattered the flat land as a reminder of its former use. Those plants were remnants of what existed before the war, before the previous land owner rode off to war. Ephraim learned the name of the previous owner during one of his shopping trips. Everyone was suspiciously curious about new faces and engaged in conversation until enough information was exchanged to form opinions. Ephraim didn’t know the whole story about the man, Charles Beaumont, a former Confederate Colonel, who once owned the land. He only knew that the Federal Government offered land for sale in a newspaper he read in Illinois. His dream of Texas became a reality as soon as he read the advertisement in the two-week-old paper. He had his land. He had his freedom. He had no reason to care about Charles Beaumont.

The sun was in their faces when Ephraim and Azariah drew close enough to hear the sounds of heavy iron mauls pounding wood posts into the dry ground. Ephraim was both nervous and eager. He wasn’t sure if it was the heat of the day or his anxiety that made his cotton shirt damp with sweat. Meeting new people in a new land was never easy. Meeting people who had been your enemy only three years earlier made it even harder. He had no real idea who the people building the fence might be. He hoped the fence-builders were from up North, people who could be good neighbors – friends with no barriers formed by the fallacies of politics. He seldom mentioned his former status as a Union soldier. There was no need to lord that over the Texans. The Texans saw no honor in it. Besides, they eventually learned about him by word of mouth. He wondered if the meeting would end like so many others since he arrived in Texas. His expectations weren’t very high.

Ephraim was startled by the sound of a whip, cracking loud enough to startle the mare. His only experience with whips was through the Army teamsters who moved supply wagons over roads better suited to two feet, or maybe four.

An angry voice yelled, Get out of their way! You ain’t bein’ paid to slow their work.

Ephraim drew the mare to a halt. He held his hand up to signal Azariah to stop as well. He slowly rode the mare to the top of a knoll. His saddle squeaked as he quietly advanced. He hadn’t noticed the noise until that moment. The leather needed some lard rubbed into it to keep it from drying too much in the Texas heat. He wondered if the squeaking was loud enough to be heard by the men pounding the posts. He dismissed the thought almost as quickly as he had it. A mounted man was visible above the cover of saplings and the tall prairie grass. He was yelling at a dark figure in a dress. Ephraim shuddered. The man was wearing a well-worn gray hat, a Confederate officer’s hat. The man’s attention was intensely focused on a group of men on the ground who were merely indistinguishable movements through the blocking vegetation.

The whip cracked again, though it was high over the man’s head. It was not intended to strike anyone, just provide accent for his words. The Colonel ain’t going to be happy with your progress. If the Colonel ain’t happy, there’ll be Hell to pay come supper time.

Stay behind me, Ephraim said to Azariah as he nudged the mare forward, and be mindful of that. He nodded toward a saddle scabbard on Azariah’s stallion. He knew the normally calm teenager had grown weary of the constant insults from the Texans. He didn’t want the rifle to even be a consideration. The mare slowly picked her way across the top of the knoll and moved toward the work party. The stallion followed single-file.

The mounted man saw Ephraim and Azariah approaching. Ephraim’s eyes opened wider beneath brim of his hat when he saw the man draw a rifle from a saddle scabbard. He wasn’t prepared to engage in conflict, nor was he inclined to be. He had to assume the man was simply exercising caution. They were not there to fight. He glanced back to make sure Azariah wasn’t replicating the man’s action. Satisfied that his son wasn’t being rash, he waved his right hand over his head to show he was unarmed. Howdy! he called out. It was a greeting the Texans seemed to favor over hello.

The mounted man turned his horse to face Ephraim and Azariah. The horse danced nervously, likely in response to the man’s emotions. Horses can sense a man better than a man can sense himself. He didn’t respond