My Heart Belongs in Galveston, Texas Read online

  © 2018 by Kathleen Y’Barbo

  ISBN 978-1-68322-500-3

  Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 978-1-68322-502-7

  Kindle and MobiPocket Edition (.prc) 978-1-68322-501-0

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the publisher.

  All scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.

  Series Design: Kirk DouPonce, DogEared Design

  Model Photograph: Lee Avison/ Trevillion Images

  Published by Barbour Books, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., 1810

  Barbour Drive, Uhrichsville, OH 44683, www.barbourbooks.com

  Our mission is to inspire the world with the life-changing message of the Bible.

  Printed in the United States of America.

  Dedication

  To those who look at the stars and see their Creator;

  To those who look at the sea or the hills or a bluebonnet in spring

  and know God exists;

  And to those who wish they could.

  Also for all the history nerds and those who are BOI.

  But the LORD sent out a great wind into the sea, and there was

  a mighty tempest in the sea, so that the ship was like to be broken.

  Then the mariners were afraid, and cried every man unto his god,

  and cast forth the wares that were in the ship into the sea,

  to lighten it of them. But Jonah was gone down into

  the sides of the ship; and he lay, and was fast asleep.

  So the shipmaster came to him, and said unto him,

  What meanest thou, O sleeper? arise, call upon thy God,

  if so be that God will think upon us, that we perish not.

  JONAH 1:4–6

  Author’s Note

  I am a history nerd.

  I want everything to be just right.

  All the facts and just the facts.

  However, sometimes the story calls for me

  to “bend” history to make it fit.

  If you’re a history nerd too, be sure and read the special extra

  chapter at the end of the novel to discover the inside

  information on what is fact and what is fiction.

  And if you have read the dedication and don’t know about the folks

  who Galveston natives call BOI, then that’s the place to get the scoop.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Gulf of Mexico

  September 19, 1855

  The storm raged around us like a mad beast intent on taking our ship and all aboard down to the briny depths. The men assigned to the watch had given up and lashed themselves to their posts. At least two had already been lost to the waves.

  For once I gave thanks that my wife had been too ill to travel with us. The illness that forbade her travel just may have saved her life.

  Galveston lay behind us now, the storm’s surge making it impossible to put in at port. So we sailed on, heading into the eye of the monster rather than out to sea where the waves would likely have already been stilled.

  The reason for this decision, the cause for the choice to chance death and find a port to drop anchor, lay down below on a bunk in the captain’s quarters. For tonight, regardless of the tempest that raged, a child would be born.

  The child’s father came to stand behind me, his face etched with nearly a full day and night of watching the one he loved endure indescribable pain. Behind him, the woman hired as nursemaid shook her head.

  “So the child did not survive?”

  A single tear traced my son’s cheek. “The child, she is weak but alive.”

  “And Eliza?”

  Again the nursemaid shook her head. This time she too showed tears. “Gone.”

  A groaning sound roared from the depths of the ship, and warning bells rang. We had been taking on water since an hour after sunset. I looked beyond these two to the man standing in the door.

  He was waiting. No words were needed. The vessel and its occupants were done for. With only two small boats with which to evacuate, I knew what must be done.

  “Turn for Indianola,” I said. “We race the wind and hope for the best.”

  “But sir,” my loyal crewman protested. “We will not make land in this vessel.”

  “We will get close enough,” I told him.

  And we did. The storm still raged farther south, but the winds were more companionable to sailing into port at Indianola. We did no such thing, of course, for to sail into that port in this ship would be to invite unwanted attention, even in this abysmal weather.

  I ordered two small crafts sent out. One carried my son and the remains of his wife along with a loyal crewman to row. The other carried the child and her nursemaid. On this vessel, I sent my most trusted man to see to their safety.

  “No matter what,” I told him. “See that the child lives, even at the cost of your own life.”

  And he had vowed it would be so.

  My son, a devoted sailor always, went on my orders but under a protest I understood. Even my answer, that separation from the child meant one might arrive safely if the other did not, did not dissuade him from his despair.

  “Go and bury your wife,” I told him as my crew fought to keep the ship from ruin. “Take rooms and wait for me here. Find a wet nurse for your daughter. I will come to you.”

  With that, I sent my son off into the night with the body of his wife wrapped in the same blankets where she had so recently given birth.

  A moment later, I heard a sound like the mewling of a cat. I turned to see the nursemaid holding a bundle.

  “She will live?” I asked her, for I knew I must make a report to my wife should the Lord allow us to be reunited this side of heaven.

  “She will live.”

  I pulled back the wrappings to see wide brown eyes peering up at me. One tiny fist had found its way free of its prison and now shook at me like an angry fishmonger.

  “Hello, little treasure,” I said to her. “Go with God. We will be together soon.”

  And then I released my granddaughter to the waves and the wind and the care of God. Most certainly and especially the care of God.

  New Orleans, Louisiana

  March 14, 1880

  Of all the assignments Jonah had been given since he joined the agency almost ten years ago, this one had to be the strangest. Though his career thus far had included putting his life on the line to bring in murderers, thieves, and con men, here he sat sipping tea in the fancy New Orleans parlor of a woman old enough to be his grandmother.

  Or at least pretending to while he studied the distinctly feminine rose-scented room. His gaze landed on the mantel where misma
tched crystal vases were filled with the pink blossoms. Larger vases on the bookshelves opposite the fireplace vied for space among the leather-covered volumes.

  Given the fact it was early March, Jonah wondered if she had a greenhouse to grow the flowers all year, but he didn’t ask. In fact, there was much he wondered about this room, but with the goal of getting out of this place as quickly as possible, he remained silent.

  The only space that did not show some evidence of the owner’s penchant for pink roses was the window seat that looked out through lace curtains onto Prytania Street. As if to make up for that grievous transgression, the seat had been wrapped in the same rose-strewn fabric that covered the walls and the two chairs where he and Mrs. Smith now sat.

  When Jonah returned his attention to his hostess, he found Mrs. Smith, a tiny woman who had obviously once been a great beauty, watching him carefully. Her dark eyes twinkled as she regarded him with what appeared to be equal parts assessment and amusement.

  Though she’d only yet offered him a polite greeting and settled him into this parlor, Jonah couldn’t help noticing this elderly woman had the smile and graceful movements of a much younger person. And her voice, when she spoke, held the slightest trace of an accent. Whether it was the familiar Acadian French of his grandfather’s people that he recognized in her tone or something else entirely, he couldn’t say.

  “So, you think I’ve lost my mind, don’t you?” she said as she lifted the teapot to pour more of the fragrant brew into his cup.

  He did, and he’d told the captain as much. However, the woman sitting across from him had apparently paid dearly for the privilege of hiring a Pinkerton man to solve her case, and she had requested him specifically.

  “Ma’am,” he said in the reverential tone he’d learned from his mama back home in Texas, “I take every assignment seriously.”

  A smile rose and then she chuckled, lighting her wrinkled face as she set the teapot back in place. “Well done, Detective Cahill. You’ve answered my question without actually giving me your opinion of my sanity.”

  “Begging your pardon, Mrs. Smith,” Jonah said, “but I don’t believe you hired me to determine that.”

  “True, I most certainly did not.” She sat back and gave him an appraising look. “Yes, I believe you’ll do.”

  Unsure how to respond, Jonah merely nodded. Whether she liked him or not was of no difference to him.

  He shifted positions and tried to pay attention as Mrs. Smith abruptly changed the subject and picked up her teacup then began to tell yet another story about tending her roses. Though he kept his gaze attentive and focused on his host, Jonah couldn’t help but wish she would move on to the topic he had come to discuss.

  “I do hope you don’t mind me prattling on,” his hostess finally said. “I shall miss my roses once we’ve all relocated to Galveston, and good listeners are hard to find these days. You, Detective Cahill, are a good listener. I applaud either your parents or your superiors at the agency for training you well.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” he said for lack of any other response.

  Mrs. Smith leaned forward, still balancing her teacup. “Do you have any questions for me, Detective Cahill?”

  He paused. “I confess I have only skimmed the information you provided, but from what I recall, you wish me to find a young relative of yours, one Trésor Smith who was born in 1855 and who you believe is now residing in Galveston, Texas.”

  “Trésor is my granddaughter. And I believe you will find her in Galveston, Texas, yes,” she said. “Indianola was the city of her birth, but as you know, most of the city was lost to a storm some five years ago.”

  “So you believe she is in Galveston?”

  “I know she will be,” she told him.

  Jonah shifted positions. “Again, without consulting the full file, I must prepare you for the fact that as an adult, she may not want to be found. Or worse…”

  “Yes, dear,” she said gently. “I understand what you mean, and although I am quite confident you will succeed, I do lay this all at the feet of Jesus for His ultimate solution.”

  “Very well, then. I will give the file my full attention and be ready to begin the search when we meet again.”

  She leaned forward. “Am I correct in understanding you will not require lodging during our stay on the island?”

  “You are correct.”

  She took a sip of tea and then regarded him with an innocent look. “Because you have family there?”

  His brows lifted. “Yes,” he said carefully. “I do.”

  “And you wonder how I knew this?” Mrs. Smith smiled as she set her teacup down.

  “The thought did occur to me.”

  Even those he was closest to within the Pinkerton Agency had no idea of his connection to this city. Jonah’s father had severed connection some twenty years ago for reasons unknown to anyone but himself and Grandfather Cahill. They remained estranged until the day Father died. Even now, he had no idea if his grandfather still lived.

  “The answer is simple,” she said. “I knew your grandfather.”

  Knew. Past tense. A smidgen of grief arose.

  “You wonder of my use of the term knew.”

  “I did wonder, yes.”

  She waved her hand as if dismissing the statement. “Truly, I cannot tell you whether Monsieur Cahill still draws a breath or not. Our acquaintance goes back many years but does not extend to the present.”

  Mrs. Smith sat back and awaited his response. For a moment Jonah had none.

  Finally he found the words. “I see.”

  Mrs. Smith seemed to have sensed his ambivalence in regard to the old man. “He was a difficult man, but God has His ways of dealing with difficult men. Go and see for yourself.”

  Jonah let the comment pass with nothing more than a brief nod.

  “Detective Cahill, I know there was much trouble under that roof while your grandfather lived,” she continued, obviously not waiting for his response. “And apparently your father has overcome that trouble by finding a good life in Galveston.”

  “Yes, I believe he had,” Jonah said.

  “Had? So he is now deceased?”

  “He is,” Jonah said. “Lost to the fever some two summers ago.”

  “My deepest condolences, Detective Cahill. I remember him as the most precocious child. Please know your father was a very good man.”

  Jonah managed a smile as he tried to imagine his father as a boy. “I know he tried to be. I was blessed to be his son.”

  “Well, that is all the Lord really asks of us poor flawed humans, isn’t it? That we try our best. The trick is to continue trying even once we’ve failed. That is the reason you are here and the whole purpose of my search for my granddaughter. You see, I failed in keeping her close. I wish to remedy this.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “I will do my best to find her.”

  Mrs. Smith stood and so he did the same, their meeting obviously at an end. “Well then, I do appreciate you humoring me by paying a visit to me here in New Orleans,” she said as she moved toward the door. “I look forward to seeing you again in Galveston when your assignment begins three weeks hence.”

  “About that,” he said as he decided to raise a concern he hadn’t known how to voice until now. “You know, you do not have to feel obligated to go along with me. I can easily send updates to you here.”

  Iron-gray brows rose. “You believe I will hinder your investigation?”

  “No, ma’am, not at all. It’s just that I wonder about the wisdom of a sea voyage, albeit not a lengthy one, at your…”

  No. He wouldn’t say it. To complete that thought aloud was to accuse a lady of being elderly, and although all evidence pointed to that fact, he’d been raised far too well to bring it up.

  “Oh child,” she said with a chuckle. “Your concern is touching. If only you knew what I know about sea voyages and…”

  Then she seemed to have her own trouble finishing her statemen
t. Instead, Mrs. Smith shook her head and then placed her hand atop his sleeve.

  “Look here. Don’t you worry, Detective Cahill. I’ll get there just fine, and I assure you I will not be traveling alone. I’ll be bringing a few of my staff along with me as well as my assistant. She has proven invaluable in helping me to write down my memories, and I am certain she will make an excellent traveling companion.”

  “If you wouldn’t mind, I wonder if I might take a look at your assistant’s notes. There could be information contained in them that will help my search for your granddaughter.”

  “Of course,” she said with a nod. “I will arrange it as soon as we are settled in Galveston. Now do take care on your journey. I know I am very much looking forward to mine. It will be wonderful to be back on the island.”

  “So you’ve been before, then. Perhaps anything your assistant has recorded in relation to your previous visits will be of help in this investigation.”

  “Oh child,” she said gently, “you’ll find nothing in those notes about such a thing. Some memories aren’t to be shared.”

  He paused before responding. “While I understand, I do hope you’ll keep in mind that I have been charged by you with uncovering secrets.” At her raised brows, he continued. “I have found, Mrs. Smith, that people do not go missing without secrets being part of the equation.”

  Her surprised look turned to one of satisfaction. “Yes, of course. Rest assured, young man, I will neither hinder your investigation nor hide any information I believe might prove helpful.”

  Jonah exchanged parting words and then left with a wave to his hostess and no doubts that Mrs. Smith would arrive just as fit and fine as she said she would. As to whether she was hiding something he might later need to know, that was yet to be determined.

  He stepped out onto the banquette that ran alongside Prytania Street and checked his pocket watch. It was early yet, still several hours away from his appointed time to leave the city. Fitting the watch back into his vest pocket, Jonah gave brief thought to his dilemma.

  Go.

  He frowned, recognizing that nudge. Rather than stand outside Mrs. Smith’s home and argue unsuccessfully with the still, small voice that had never steered him wrong, Jonah sighed and headed toward Esplanade Avenue.