Ellis nodded. “And he appears to be slurring his words just slightly. Since he was hit with something on the back of his head, that would be an expected symptom, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes,” her mother said. “With one injured man to care for, I do not see how you and I can add another to our list of duties.”
“But Mr. Jim will be fine soon, won’t he?”
Mama leaned against the bark of the pecan tree and then looked away toward the river. “I hope he will.” She slowly returned her attention to Ellis. “But I have seen people with this injury who did not recover. There is no way to know whether he will be helping us with the chores next week or …”
Mama did not continue. She didn’t need to. Still, the pain of what went unsaid jabbed Ellis’s heart. Mr. Jim was family, and they had already lost so much family.
Not lost, she corrected. For Papa and Thomas would be home. She knew it. That loss was merely a temporary absence.
“Oh Mama,” Ellis said softly. “He’s got family in Velasco. To be cheated of their last days with him, if that is indeed what these are, would be awful.”
“You think very much as I do,” her mother said. “He needs to go home to them for a visit. If he recovers, all the better. If he does not …”
Again she left the rest unsaid.
“How do you propose we get him there? When we left him just now, he was telling the preacher how he planned to fix those uneven rows Grandfather Valmont tilled in the garden as soon as he could get changed into his work clothes.”
Mama chuckled. “Yes, I did hear that. It seems to me the only way to get him to Velasco is to convince him that I need him to help get us there.”
“You mean all of us? Someone has to stay with the soldier.”
“I’ve thought of that, and I think I may be able to find a neighbor to check in on him,” she said. “It’s the only solution. We must get Mr. Jim home, and there’s no time to waste.”
“I will stay with the soldier,” Ellis volunteered. “You’ll only be gone a short while, but he does still have a fever that refuses to stay broken. I can manage this.”
“Only just this morning you told me you were afraid of him and wanted him kept asleep indefinitely. Now you expect me to give you permission to stay behind here and keep watch over him?”
“It is only a day’s journey there and back, and that allows for a lengthy visit with Grandfather Valmont. I will be fine.”
Mama seemed to consider the request for a moment, and then, finally, she nodded. “All right, but I will only allow it if you promise that if you have the slightest chance to fear that man in the barn, you will run to Lyla and Jonah’s place and stay there until the boys and I return.”
Ellis opened her mouth to respond, but Mama waved away the words. Instead she cupped her fists and let out a long breath.
“If I did not love Texas so much, I would be cursing this new land of ours for all the trouble it has caused my family.” Her mother shrugged. “But who am I to complain when my husband and son have sacrificed so much to see to her protection?”
“They’ll be home soon, Mama,” Ellis said as she swiped at a rare tear that traced a path down her mother’s cheek. “I know they will.”
“As do I,” she said. “And in the meantime, we will carry on. So, are you ready to promise you will do as I asked?”
“I will,” she said. “I have no interest in sacrificing anything for Texas.”
“Oh honey,” Mama said with the beginnings of a grin. “You’ve already sacrificed so much.”
Ellis shook her head. “Please don’t you go telling me what Grandfather Valmont already has. I know there could have been fancy balls and a big home in New Orleans and all of the comforts that I don’t have here in Texas if we had stayed there.”
Mama’s expression took on a wistful look, and Ellis wondered if she was considering what might have been or what she still missed. “Yes, there could have been.”
“Well, I am sorry, but that sounds just awful. Dressing up in corsets that pinch and being polite to fellows who only want to get to know me because I live in a big house and have good prospects? No thank you.”
Mama chuckled. “Oh Ellis,” she said. “I did not grow up a Valmont, but I heard all the stories from your grandmother. The way she used to speak of her mother-in-law, Maribel Cordoba Valmont, is exactly the way you are speaking now. I do believe the apple did not fall far from the tree. Now come, let’s go and try to convince a stubborn man to do what we want.”
“That should be no problem at all for you,” she told her mother. “You’ve been doing exactly that with Papa for as long as I can recall.”
“With one exception, you are correct,” Mama said as she climbed the steps to return to the porch.
That one exception was when Papa determined to join with the militia along with Thomas and go off to fight. Ellis let that reference fall silently between them without comment.
A short time later, Mama and Ellis served a noonday meal that spread just thin enough to allow for the preacher’s generous portion. After the preacher gave the blessing, Mama set to work convincing Mr. Jim that she needed him to help her with an errand to Velasco immediately after the meal.
“But I saw plenty of work to do right here, Sophie,” he protested. “I know your daddy means well, but if those rows aren’t straightened now, the Lord only knows how we will plant there come spring.”
Mama sat patiently as the older man offered a long list of reasons why an afternoon in Velasco just was not possible. Then, a few minutes later, she had him not only agreeing to go along to help her but making her promise not to dawdle with the cleanup because time was wasting.
“I’ll do the cleaning up,” Ellis offered. “You all get going.”
With the pastor headed back to Columbia and the rest of the family now heading downriver to Velasco, Ellis took the dishes out to do the washing in the summer kitchen. She had just dunked the first dish in the bucket when she froze.
In all the excitement of Mr. Jim’s return and then his coerced exit, she had forgotten all about the soldier. Dropping the tin plate into the bucket, she quickly dried her hands on her apron.
Keeping as quiet as possible, she hurried to the small barn. Her fingers trembled as she reached out to lift the bar. The door swung open on hinges that Mr. Jim would complain needed oiling.
The barn was quiet and cool, and the sun filtering through the high windows gave enough light to see that nothing had changed in her absence. She approached the bed, uncertain as to what she would find.
The Grey lay very still, so still that Ellis paused to watch for the slow rise and fall of his chest before she reached down to press her palm against his forehead. No fever.
She sighed. “You’re doing better, it seems, whoever you are.”
With the soldier so deeply asleep, Ellis turned him so she could examine the wound on the back of his head. The healing was nearly complete here, and there was no evidence of new bleeding for days. As quickly as she could manage without awakening him, Ellis removed the bandage and set it aside.
He stirred as she rested his head back where it had been, but then he once again settled into slumber. “Who are you?” she repeated as she looked down at him. “How did you get here, and for whom do you work, soldier?”
The same question she had asked more than once. The same question he had yet to answer.
“Who are you?” came the whispered reply as his eyes opened.
“Oh no,” she said. “I’m asking the questions today. And I asked first.”
His eyes opened slowly, and he seemed to have trouble focusing. Finally he gave her a half smile. “Green eyes.”
She sighed. “Ellis,” she corrected. “Now. Who are you?”
He moved his head from side to side and then winced before returning his attention to her. “Your captive,” he answered.
“What is your name?” she asked, ignoring the reference to the ropes binding him.
“I … I … I don’t …” His voice fell silent. “You said Clay.”
“I did. But is that really who you are?” She would say no more than that until she could determine his real name.
He nodded and then added, “Gentry?”
Same as the name on the papers in his boot. Either he was feeling better and remembering the false identity he’d taken on or this was the truth. Ellis kept a neutral expression.
Clay jerked his hands and then looked up at Ellis. “Why am I bound?”
“Safety.” The truth. For if he made any attempt to harm her, even in his weakened state, he would be very sorry. “What are you doing in Texas, Clay Gentry?”
His eyes widened then closed. “Don’t know,” he said on an exhale of breath.
“Are you a soldier?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Don’t know.”
Something about the sound of his voice gave her pause. Unless Clay Gentry was very good at pretending, he had just convinced her that he spoke the truth. Mama was right in warning that the injuries he sustained could cause loss of memory.
“Hungry,” he said again. “And thirsty.”
She made quick work of offering him water by once again dripping water onto his tongue. This time he did not choke.
“More,” he pleaded.
“Slowly,” Ellis said as she repeated the process until she felt he’d had enough.
“Thank you,” he whispered through cracked lips.
“Still hungry?” she asked.
At his nod, she glanced around to find the breakfast plate still sitting on the table. Asking to eat was always a good sign for a recovering patient. But to feed him, she would somehow have to get him into a seated position. Dare she try?
“Clay,” she said as she moved closer. “If I feed you, I have to sit you up. Do you feel ready to do that?”
For a moment, he remained still and quiet. Then he nodded. “Yes.”
“All right. Let me do the work. You just do as I say, and if you cannot or if it hurts too much, tell me.”
She settled onto the side of the bed and wrapped her arm behind his neck. “When I lift your head, move up.”
He tried but failed more than once. The reason was simple. He had no use of his hands.
Ellis sighed as she returned his head to the pillow. She had to either release him from his bonds or ignore the pleas of a hungry patient.
Clay, I am going to remove the bindings on one of your hands so you can sit up, but your legs and the other hand will remain tied.”
His eyes watched Ellis as he nodded. Since his left shoulder had sustained the injury, Ellis decided to release his right hand. Her fingers fumbled with the ties, finally loosening the knot she’d made this morning.
As the ropes fell free, she scooted away from him. He flexed his fingers as if trying to get feeling in them but otherwise remained still.
“I will lift your head,” she told him as she moved back into position. “Use your hand to help yourself sit up.”
Ellis slid her hand under his neck. This time, he turned his head to look up at her. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Green eyes.”
He said the words in English, his first use of that language since he’d arrived on their property. What that meant, she would have to ponder later. For now, she had a job to do, and that job involved repositioning a very handsome but very mysterious wounded soldier.
“Ellis,” she corrected as lightly as she could manage at this close distance. For up close his eyes were deep and soft and his weak smile would make the heart of any woman who had more than an interest in his health beat faster.
But she only held an interest in healing this Grey’s wounded body and allowing him to return to the cause of freedom for Texas. If she was wrong and he was a foe, then she would still have a clean conscience knowing she had treated one of God’s beloved children even if that child was an enemy to a cause Ellis held dear.
“Ellis,” he repeated.
“Just as we tried before, only we will move slowly,” she said as she lifted his head. “Are you ready?”
“I am.”
Though the soldier groaned as if he was in agony, he refused to allow her to lay him back down. After a few minutes of the two of them working together, he managed to sit up.
Ellis grabbed two extra quilts and rolled them, then added his pillow to support his back and neck as she settled him into a semi-reclining position. Now, though he could sleep this way, he could also eat.
Unfortunately, the effort must have exhausted him, for Clay fell into a deep sleep as if he had forgotten all about his hunger. Ellis took the opportunity to remove the plate and return it to the kitchen, making sure to bar the barn door when she left.
Dumping out the old food for the dogs to devour, she made quick work of cooking another plate of eggs. She also pulled a tin mug down from the shelf. If the soldier could manage food, then he could also manage a mug.
She crossed the yard to return to the barn but paused to look up at the sky before she released the latch. Ominous black clouds floated toward her, the high-hat type that were known to come up off the Gulf on warm summer afternoons.
But this was October.
Still, the weather had remained temperate as it sometimes did here in this part of Texas. As long as the storm did not prevent Mama and the boys from returning, then a decent soaking of rain was always welcome.
Rain. He always loved the rain, didn’t he? It rained where he was from, didn’t it? Yes, he thought it did. Or maybe that was only the place where he visited?
Maybe all of this was just another thought the green-eyed woman had given him. Like the name that did not seem to fit or the accusation that he would somehow do her harm or escape if he were to be released from these ropes.
He was weak as a kitten and had no desire to do anything but sleep. Not true, he decided as he slid his eyes open just enough to catch sight of the woman reading by lamplight.
Had he the ability to focus well and to remain awake, he would want to look into those green eyes and manage to say something. Anything. Why did they render him mute?
But they did not, did they? For he had answered questions. That was her who asked, wasn’t it?
Though everything that happened before the moment he saw those green eyes looking down at him was wrapped in a fog he could not yet penetrate, he knew this was not the first time he had seen her.
This woman held some meaning, but what? Was she only here to tell him things? To offer him water and change his dressings?
Was she real at all?
He exhaled a long breath. He was not so far gone that he did not recall the feel of her hand at the back of his neck. Of her encouraging words whispered against his ear and the warning look she gave him when she freed his hand.
Flexing his fingers, he glanced over at his left hand. A rope still held him to the bed, but even without that binding, the pain in his shoulder likely would have discouraged movement.
What had happened to him? Hadn’t she asked him that? Had he answered?
She caught him staring and lowered the book she had been reading. “Hello again,” she said to him. “You had a long rest.”
A flash of lightning sizzled between them and then thunder shook the room. She had lit a lamp, but there were shadows all around.
He avoided the shadows, this much he remembered. Shadows held danger.
“Are you hungry?” she asked, diverting his attention from the search of the corners of the room. At his nod, she came toward him, a plate now in her hand. She offered a fork, but his hand shook when he tried to take it.
“Let me help,” she said as she loaded the fork with something on the plate and offered it to him. His mouth opened, but he kept his attention on those green eyes.
On Ellis.
Yes, he must remember that name. Ellis.
“Slowly,” she said again as his attention shifted to her mouth. Her lips were pursed into a pout. As soon as he took a bite of whatever s
he had put on the fork, those same lips curved into the beginnings of a smile.
After a few bites, she paused. “Slowly,” she repeated as she set the plate aside. “Give yourself time.”
Everything in him wanted to protest. To explain that although he did not currently recall with any accuracy his name or anything else about himself relating to where he was or how he got there, he was still a man who was not used to being fed or taking orders.
He gave the orders.
Or at least he hoped that was a memory and not just another thing Ellis had said to him.
No, he decided as he tried to force his feeble brain to focus. He had given an order once. An order he regretted.
But what was it?
After a moment, he let that thought go and watched it disappear like a wisp of smoke on a dark night. She was feeding him again. He accepted the sustenance, allowed her to care for him. He would do that until he was well enough for the balance of power to be restored.
For he was not a man to be ruled and run by a woman. He’d not been raised to lie abed without doing hard work, had he? The answer of no felt correct, so he hoped that was the case.
Outside, the thunder rolled on. The lamplight shook with each peal, and the patter on the roof continued. The combination was a symphony that lulled him to sleep once again, this time with his belly full.
Then something jarred him awake. Questions. Yes. She was speaking to him, the green-eyed woman who had tied him here. Something about his plans for a date in November.
November 18.
Recognition jolted deep inside him. Focus. What was important about that date?
Think.
He knew this. Knew why it was important. Something more important than anything else in his life.
He closed his eyes and then opened them again. Ellis had stopped talking and was looking at him as if expecting an answer.
Was he being interrogated? Yes, that was it. She knew something and thought he knew more. That was why he’d been trussed up like a Christmas turkey and relegated to some dark room in a place he could not name.
The Alamo Bride Page 9