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where they’ve been, sir?”
    Henry refrained from letting the smile out, blue around the mizen came to mind, but he didn’t judge men by their skin color or the way they spoke. “Three weeks ago, they headed out for the Llano. Why are you asking, Chester?”
    “Would you be so kind to spare me a few minutes of your time, sir?” He faced the driver. “Would you be available to wait a while?”
    Henry shrugged, and the driver nodded. Why not?
    “Come sit a spell.” He threw a nod toward the back of his house and spoke to the young man. “Take your team to the barn and water and grain ‘em if you’re a mind. There’s hay in the loft.”
    “Thank you, sir.” He drove the buggy around the side of the house.
    Chester took the seat next to Henry and extended his hand. “Good to meet you, sir. My father wrote of seeing a Patty Buckmeyer at Jonesboro; he knew him from the Battle of New Orleans. Are you that man?”
    Henry smiled; no one had called him Patty in a coon’s age. “So you must be Silas Meriwether’s son.”
    “Yes, sir, and I’ve been looking for him. Might you happen to know my father’s whereabouts?”
    “No, sure don’t. I ran into him a time or two after 1814, but haven’t seen or heard of him in years. Sorry.”
    Disappointment etched the man’s eyes, then he seemed to shrug it off. “Was he well the last time you saw him?”
    “Same old Silas, strong as an ox. He’d taken up with a Cherokee squaw if memory serves.”
    The man sat back in Sue’s rocker and sighed. “Inquiring about my father was a sidebar, so to speak. The real reason we came—my mistress and cousin, May Meriwether, wishes to interview Major Baylor and Captain Rusk.
    “She’s a novelist of some note and read of their exploits.” He grinned. “Miss Meriwether has traveled to Texas, interested in fictionalizing some of their adventures. If they’re agreeable.”
    The front door opened. Mary Rachel held out two glasses of water. “I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but did you say May Meriwether? She’s here?”
    “Yes, I did, Miss, and she’s settling in as we speak at The Donoho.”
    “Oh, Daddy, you know how much I love her books. Tell him yes. I can’t believe she’s right here in Clarksville. How did that happen?”
    Henry sat the water on the willow table between the rocking chairs; he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen his daughter so excited, especially not since her mother died.
    “She is indeed. We’ve traveled to Texas all the way from New York.”
    “Oh, that’s so exciting. Do you suppose I might meet her? Did you say you’re her cousin? Could you ask her? When’s her next book going to be out? Do you know what it’s about?”
    The visitor must have caught some of Mary Rachel’s excitement and smiled at his second oldest daughter. “Yes, three times, Miss, then an I’m-not-sure and a no. She loves meeting her readers.”
    “Oh, that’s wonderful!”
    “Miss Meriwether finished the rough draft on her latest manuscript during the journey here, and is at this very moment reworking the first twenty-four chapters.”
    “Really? I cannot believe that May Meriwether is in Clarksville.” She faced Henry. “Daddy, can we go? I have to meet her. Tell me we can. Come on, please. We’ve got to. Besides, just you and I haven’t been to town since forever.”
    He wanted to say no, but knew better. In all of Mary Rachel’s seventeen years, he’d never been able to deny her anything, just like her mother, God rest Sue’s soul.
    “If Mister Meriwether thinks Miss May would be agreeable, and Miss Laura is willing to watch your sisters and brother, I guess I could take my favorite daughter to the Donoho for supper.”
    “Oh, Daddy, thank you!” She threw her arms around his neck. “You’re so wonderful.” She glanced at the visitor. “He tells every one of us that we’re his favorite.”
    He smiled, loving it that she knew him so well. “But it’s