Free Lorraine Heath by Always To Remember Page A

to her dismay, she discovered she missed his teasing banter.
    As Meg dismounted, a rock turned beneath her foot. She stumbled before catching her balance. With his hand outstretched, Clay took a quick step toward her.
    Their eyes met.
    He shoved his hand into his pocket. “You need to be careful.”
    “I figured that out.” She glanced around the area. “There doesn’t seem to be anyone here.”
    He removed his hat and wiped his brow. “I didn’t know what we’d find. Mostly Mr. Schultz sells stone to the Germans who settle in the area. They like to build stone houses.”
    “But you’re not building a house.”
    “No, but the granite is good quality. I was hoping I could find a hunk of rock that Mr. Schultz hadn’t started cutting into smaller chunks.”
    The door to the house opened. A man who looked as though he had been carved from the very land surrounding him stepped into the sunlight. He squinted, then quickly came to greet them. “Young Holland.” He took Clay’s hand and pumped it vigorously. “Your papa tell me. I’m glad you are safe. My boy, my Franz. Dey kill him.”
    A lone teardrop, out of place among his craggy features, trailed down his cheek. Meg felt an immediate kinship with the man, understood the devastation of his loss. In a gesture of comfort, she placed her hand on his massive shoulder. A painful ache centered in her chest as she felt his trembling. “My heart goes out to you. The Yankees killed so many.”
    He stared at her, his eyes hardening. “I not talk about de Yankees. I talk about de Texans. Dey come for him in de middle of de night, people we think are friends. Dey drag him from bed and hang him. Break his mama’s heart to see our good boy die like dat. We come from Germany to find peace. Is not our war. I tell him, ‘Go to Mexico. Come home when dis war is over.'” He shook his head and wiped his eyes. “But he not listen. Den dey come and hang him.”
    “Mr. Schultz, I’m so sorry,” Clay said raggedly.
    The old man patted his shoulder. “Not your doing. I know dat, and you not here to hear my sorrows. You here to get rock.” He waved his hand in a circle. “Der is not much here. I have no heart for working the quarry. If you no find what you need, I tell you where other quarry is.” He walked away, bent as though he were carrying one of his boulders upon his shoulders.
    Clay yanked his hat from his head and plowed his fingers through his hair. “Damn! His son was only a little older than me.” He glared at Meg. “I guess you think it was a just hanging.”
    “Every story has more than one side to it.”
    “Too bad we can’t have Franz tell us his side.”
    “Don’t use that tone with me. I’m not the one who hanged him.”
    “No, but you would have. After all, he didn’t stand by your precious Confederacy.”
    She paled at his words. “I was never in favor of lynching. I’d heard stories … they sicken me as much as I’m certain they sicken you.” She pressed her fist above her heart. “But I do know if you live in this state and reap its rewards, you answer when it calls.”
    “Unfortunately, Mrs. Warner, for many of us, the answer wasn’t quite so simple or easy to give.” Settling his hat on his head, he released a long sigh. “We got here later than I thought we would. Let’s just look around and see if we can find what we want. Then we’ll go into Austin for the night and come back in the morning to pick up the stone.”
    Before Meg could reply, he started walking with long, even strides. She followed, carefully picking her way through the scattered rocks that littered the ground. “I suppose you need a large piece,” she called.
    “Yes, ma’am. I’d like to make the statue life-size.”
    He stopped walking and removed his hat as though he’d suddenly stepped into a place of reverence. Meg quickened her pace, stopping when she reached his side.
    Slowly, almost lovingly, he skimmed splayed fingers over a hunk of stone. She tried