Free Hope Reborn by Caryl Mcadoo

prospecting for gold. That would certainly be an adventure she could write about; a poor gold miner striking it rich and having all the ladies wanting to be his wife.
    She faced Henry. “You ever get the bug to go find a mountain of gold?”
    He laughed. “No, I have plenty enough of what I need. I like it right here.”
    “Uncle Henry.”
    The man looked to the middle of the table, where the oldest boy sat. “What is it, Charley?”
    “Can me and my boys go with Jean Paul and the others in the morning?”
    Mary Rachel leaned out. “My boys and I, Charley. Say it right, or I’ll tell the Major, and he’ll tan your hide.”
    The young lady who sat beside Jean Paul shook her finger at the little towhead—Laura, if May rightly remembered. “And probably mine, too. Try hard to remember and use proper English so you don’t get me in trouble, too.”
    The boy said several words in a language May had never heard then smiled a very hollow grin at Mary Rachel. He faced the man. “Uncle Henry, can my boys and I go with them in the morning?”
    “Exactly where are you and the boys wanting to go?”
    Houston jumped to his feet. “Running that sounder of hogs, Pa. ‘Bout high time we had some fun around here. Chores and schooling’s all we ever do.”
    “We’ll have to see about that. Now that I know what’s afoot, you boys settle down and finish your dinner, and let me think on this a while.”
    For the next few minutes nothing but spoons clinging the china bowls sounded. It duly impressed May how Henry had done so long without a wife, and so well.
    Not that she would ever experience the joy of rearing a child. She wanted a baby alright, but not someone else’s.
    “What about you, Bart? You wanting to go, too?”
    The dark-haired boy sitting on the other side of Houston nodded. “Yes, sir. I want to shoot a bid old hod and tut his belly and pull his duts out, and –”
    “Whoa, Bartholomew. That’s not proper talk for the dinner table.” The second oldest girl faced her palm toward the boy.
    The man guffawed and glanced at May.
    She covered her mouth with her napkin and did her best not to gag or regurgitate.
    Barely able to talk for laughing, he touched her hand. “I apologize, ma’am. You’ll have to forgive Bart. He gets excited.”
    She placed the napkin back on the table and nodded with what she hoped was enough of a smile to get by. “Of course.” Gracious. The child couldn’t be more than five, and he had a gun?
    And his uncle was thinking about letting him go to the woods and shoot a wild hog? Texians. Would anyone believe it without seeing for themselves?  
    Henry regained his composure. “Shooter sound? You boys been seeing to his hooves? Keeping him brushed out?”
    Charley nodded. “Yes, sir. You know how the Major is. He don’t cotton to slackers, especially when it comes to horse flesh.”
    Laura beat Mary Rachel to the correction. “Charley, he doesn’t. ‘Don’t’ isn’t correct.”
    “Sorry, ma’am.”
    “Bart, you good doubling with your brother?”
    Disappointment flashed across the boy’s face then he hid it. “Yes, sir, but I’m a tough wanger. Tan I tarry my long wifle?”
    “No, we best rope them.”
    Houston jumped to his feet. “Oh, Pa, you’re taking all the fun out of it.” The boy punched the air. “We want to shoot ‘em dead. We hate them nasty rooters.”
    “Sit.”
    “Don’t know why we can’t shoot ‘em. Buzzards need to eat, too.”
    “And you, young man, will be riding with me.” The man’s tone silenced the boy.
    All three returned to their midday repast. Charley, Houston, and Bart—she had them down. Levi’s, Henry’s, and Levi’s.
    Shortly, Henry and all the other males, even Chester, rose and began clearing the table. What was with the man? Out of his own mouth, he claimed to have everything he needed, yet he helped clear the table while the girls sat and visited.
    And who had clued Chester into the arrangement? And what was with him