The Alamo Bride

by Kathleen Y'Barbo

  “Is it the bobcat?” she whispered.

  Rather than respond, he touched his index finger to his lips to silence her. “Stay behind me.”

  “Come out,” he shouted. When nothing happened, Clay made the demand again.

  “Clay,” she finally said, “if you saw someone out there and they don’t speak Acadian French, they aren’t going to know what you’re saying.”

  “I’m not speaking French,” he snapped.

  “You are,” she whispered again. “Say this: Come out.”

  He repeated her words. This time the command came out in perfect English. At her nod, he smiled.

  A rustling in the brush not far from where they had just been sitting caught her attention. Clay backed up until they were hidden in the brush.

  “Be very still,” he said softly.

  “You’re still speaking English,” she said with a grin.

  Then a shot rang out, shattering the bark of a sweet gum tree just behind her. Ellis dove to the ground and stifled a scream.

  “Take cover over there,” he told her as he nodded toward the depths of the thicket. “Stay down low. Do you have a pistol?”

  Heart racing, Ellis retrieved the pistol from her skirt pocket and showed it to Clay. “In case I had to shoot the bobcat.”

  He glanced around then returned his attention to Ellis. “It’s not a bobcat this time. Be ready to shoot anyone who isn’t me or your grandfather.”

  She nodded even as she prayed she would not have to do as he asked. Time seemed to stand still, and every noise in the forest became amplified. Something crawled across her leg, but she crouched down stock-still and refused to move.

  A hawk screeched overhead, and Ellis gasped. “‘With long life will I satisfy him,’” she whispered as she quoted the last line of Psalm 91. “Let me have a long life, please, Lord. I promise I won’t waste it.”

  The crack of a rifle rang out, echoing across the forest. A man shouted something she couldn’t quite understand. Then silence.

  How long she crouched there with no idea whether Clay was alive or dead, Ellis had no idea. Finally she heard footsteps. With her pistol in hand, she lifted up just enough to see Clay hurrying toward her on the path.

  She stood and shook the leaves off her dress with her free hand. Clay grasped her by the elbow.

  “Come on,” he demanded.

  Ellis leaned down to reach for her basket but he pulled her back. “No time,” he said. “Let’s go.”

  She followed him through the woods, along the path that skirted the northernmost part of the Valmont property. They were almost home when she realized he had taken the long way.

  There was only one reason a man in a hurry would do such a thing. “You’re avoiding the clearing, aren’t you?”

  Ignoring her, Clay kept walking. He had slowed his pace to match hers, this much Ellis knew, and so she hurried as best she could. Still, she was winded by the time the house came into view—remarkable considering Clay’s recent brush with death. Who was out there who would cause pain and weariness to fade for speed’s sake?

  For her sake too. Like once before …

  At the edge of the clearing, Clay grasped her elbow. “Walk normally. I don’t want anyone who might be watching to know you’re aware of them. However, here’s the path I want you to take.”

  He described a trek that involved going from the forest to the pecan tree and then around the large barn and chicken coop to reach the summer kitchen. “I will be right behind you, but don’t look back. Just know I will be there. From the kitchen, we will walk into the house together.”

  “Kitchen!” Ellis shook her head. “We forgot the eggs.”

  Clay sighed. “That is the least of our concerns.”

  “Why? Who did you shoot?” she demanded.

  “Not now,” he said. “Wait until I give the signal and then go.” She frowned but did as he told her. “And remember I am right behind you.”

  She nodded and then smiled. “Oh, and Clay?”

  “Yes?” he said as he checked the ammunition in his rifle.

  “You may not realize this, but everything you’ve said since you yelled in the woods has been in English.”

  “Good to know,” he responded as he glanced around and then returned his attention to her. “But can we discuss this later?”

  She smiled. “Count on it.”

  With Clay right behind her, Ellis hurried forward to pause at each place along the route to the house. As soon as he gave the nod, she walked as casually as she could to the next agreed meeting place. Finally they arrived at the summer kitchen.

  There Clay held his finger to his lips and then pressed past her to look out the door. After a few minutes he turned to face her.

  “Who shot at me?”

  She shook her head. “I have no idea. I was crouching down and couldn’t see a thing.”

  His gaze darkened. “Not today, Ellis,” he said as he gestured to his shoulder. “Who did this to me?”

  Again,” Ellis said, “I have no idea. You were already shot when we found you.”

  “But did I say anything that would indicate who did it?” His eyes narrowed. “And now is not the time to debate whether I am friend or foe. Both our lives as well as your grandfather’s could depend on your answer.”

  “I do not know,” she told him. “You said a lot of things, but I don’t remember anything you said about the person who shot you. Although …”

  She paused to decide whether to continue. For to continue would be to confide in him that she had taken notes on his fevered ramblings.

  Something on the perimeter of the property caught his attention. After a moment, he returned his attention to Ellis. “Although what?”

  “That you out there, Clay?” Grandfather Valmont called from somewhere inside the house. “You’d better have my granddaughter with you.”

  “Yes, sir, it’s me. And yes, sir, I do.”

  “All right, then,” he said. “Come on in. I’ll cover you.”

  “Arm in arm this time,” Clay told her. “I don’t want to take any chances.”

  Ellis hurried inside with Clay practically attached to her at the hip. Once they reached the door, it flew open and Grandfather Valmont stepped back, his rifle at the ready.

  “Did you get a look at them?” Clay asked him.

  “Saw two of them,” he said. “Not certain, but from what little I heard of them talking, I believe they were Mexican. Couldn’t tell whether they were army or just men up to no good. However, the night you got shot, I followed a pair of men who sounded a whole lot like these two—speaking Spanish the same as they did and calling each other the same thing. I lost them when I had a coughing fit. Guess they heard me coming and scattered.”

  “If you’d taken the medications I left for you, you wouldn’t have had that cough,” Ellis told him.

  “And if I had taken that awful sleeping stuff, I could have been shot in my bed.”

  “That isn’t funny,” she said.

  “Didn’t mean for it to be.” He turned back to Clay. “So it’s possible those two ran from me and right into you that night. That may be what got you shot, and it may be why they’re back. Could be you they want.”

  “It’s possible,” Clay told him as Grandfather Valmont bolted the door. “I think I got one of them. He took off running, but I was more concerned about getting Ellis back here in one piece than I was going to look for him.”

  Her grandfather smiled at Clay. “Good man,” he told him. “You made the right choice.”

  Clay responded with a curt nod. “If they come back, we’ll be ready for them. In the meantime, I don’t think Ellis ought to be out gathering plants.”

  “I agree. Or out any more than she needs to be, at least until we know what they’re after, if anything.”

  “Hold on a minute,” she told them both. “I am right here. Please do not speak about me like I am absent from the room.”

  Clay caught her gaze. “You’re right
, Ellis,” he said. “We should absolutely consult you first. Would you like to take the chance of going back out there alone and being shot? It’ll be completely up to you.”

  “Very funny. Of course I don’t. I just wanted to be consulted, so thank you for that.” She turned her attention to her grandfather. “Ever since he’s started speaking English again, he’s become insufferable.”

  Grandfather Valmont chuckled. “I did notice the Acadian French was gone. Does that mean your memories are returning?”

  “Just the one,” he said. “Something about a home in the woods. I don’t know where it is, but I know it isn’t New Orleans.” He shook his head. “That’s not completely true. When you mentioned the men speaking Spanish, that did remind me that I thought maybe I heard Spanish too while I was recuperating.”

  “Not a chance,” Ellis said. “None of us speak it well enough to converse with one another.”

  He shrugged. “Then before? Maybe the men you heard, Jean Paul?”

  “Could be,” he said. “Unless someone got close enough to that barn for you to hear them, which meant they got close enough to my family to cause harm.” He shook his head. “I don’t want to think that’s possible, but I must concede that with my son and grandson away, it could happen.”

  “No,” Ellis said. “Mama and I would have seen them. I think he’s remembering what happened when he was shot, not while he was recuperating.”

  Grandfather Valmont shook his head. “No matter.”

  But it mattered to Clay. This much was obvious by his expression as he moved to the other end of the room to take up watch over the south side of the property.

  After a while, she joined him there. “Clay, I don’t know the answer to whether you heard Spanish before or after you were shot. Nor do I know who shot you.” He turned to look into her eyes. “If I did, I would tell you.”

  Silence fell between them. Finally he nodded and went back to keeping watch. “I believe you.”

  Ellis allowed her gaze to follow Clay’s, searching the property lines for signs of anyone who might be hiding there. She saw nothing out of the ordinary, and certainly no people.

  “What is happening November 18th?”

  She looked at him from the corner of her eye as she considered how to respond. “You claimed that you have a meeting,” she told him.

  “With whom?”

  Ellis rose and got halfway across the room before thinking better of making a swift exit. She returned to his side and touched his shoulder. “I can tell you where,” she offered.

  He looked up at her. “All right,” was his simple reply.

  “Mission San Jose.”

  Clay searched her face as if looking for clues and then returned to his watch. “Thank you,” he said as she turned to go. “I’m supposed to bring something with me, aren’t I?”

  She paused in her steps and glanced back at him. Then, without another word, she walked away.

  Ellis found Clay the next morning at dawn standing at the bank of the Brazos River. How long he’d been standing there, she couldn’t tell, but he was not so wrapped up in thought that he didn’t turn to watch her approach.

  “End or beginning of the watch?” she asked him as she handed him the cup of coffee she’d brought.

  Clay accepted the coffee with thanks and took a sip. “The watch never ends when you are a soldier.”

  For lack of a better response, she nodded. The always-brown water glowed a deep gold under the rising sun. Out of habit, she searched for snakes but found no evidence of them.

  “We found you over there,” she said as she indicated the reeds where the pirogue had been located. “You were lying in the boat unconscious.”

  “What happened to the boat?”

  Ellis met his stare. “It was your resting place for the first two days. We feared moving you would do more harm than good, so my mother padded the space around you with quilts in hopes it wouldn’t be too uncomfortable.”

  He offered a wry smile. “I do not remember any discomfort associated with my bed.”

  She matched his grin. “Yes, I would imagine you had other concerns. After we were sure we could move you, we brought in a bed and returned the pirogue to the neighbors.”

  “The neighbors?” Clay shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

  “I thought I told you.” She caught herself. “I’m sorry. You likely don’t remember that I explained the pirogue had been stolen a few days before you arrived at Velasco with the Greys. I knew you couldn’t have stolen it because I saw you leave the ship from New Orleans and knew exactly when you reached Texas soil. Thus, you could not be the thief.”

  “And yet you found me in a stolen boat.” He took another sip of coffee and let that statement settle between them. “Just one of the mysteries.”

  A cool breeze off the river drifted past, and Ellis tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. The air was crisp this morning, a warning of the winter to come.

  Much as she disliked the heat of summer, she hated the chill of winter.

  “I need to speak to your neighbor,” he said. “He might have an idea of who took his pirogue.”

  “You could do that,” she said. “His house is down the main road to the south. But he will tell you he saw nothing and only noticed the pirogue was gone well after it was stolen.”

  “How could he tell that?”

  Ellis shrugged. “I don’t know. But that is what he told Mama and me when we returned the pirogue.”

  “And you didn’t question him?”

  She gave the soldier a pointed look. “My mother and I had just delivered a pirogue several miles downriver with two fidgety boys. The last thing we were thinking of at that point was interrogating Mr. Vaughn as to why his boat was stolen.”

  “Your point is taken,” he said. “I just find it strange that the owner would realize a boat was gone and then somehow know it had been gone awhile before he noticed it.”

  “Clay,” she said wearily, “are you certain you’re not missing a memory of having been an investigator before your accident?”

  His expression sobered. “I’m certain of nothing.”

  “Oh,” she said quickly. “I didn’t mean to be so insensitive. You just seem very good at seeing the details.”

  Clay took another sip of coffee. “Except the details in my past.”

  “But you saw something yesterday. That house, mountains, trees …” She paused. “And you were able to concentrate and switch from Acadian French to English. You haven’t gone back to French, just in case you weren’t sure.”

  “I wasn’t,” he said. “Though I hadn’t thought about it.”

  “Well,” Ellis said slowly, “maybe the key to getting back the important memories is to concentrate on trying to recall them.”

  “I have been doing that,” he snapped. “It doesn’t help when you won’t answer my direct questions.”

  “Like what?” she asked.

  “You know what I am supposed to bring with me to that meeting at Mission San Jose. Why won’t you just tell me?”

  He’d allowed his frustration to cause trouble again. Though he couldn’t remember most of what happened up until the day he awakened in the barn, he had an innate sense that his temper had always been his downfall.

  Clay turned to face the beautiful lady who had saved his life and offered his most penitent expression. “I’m sorry,” he told her. “I don’t know much about myself, but I do know that I don’t take well to having missing pieces of what is an important puzzle.” He paused. “I also don’t like getting shot at.”

  “Nor do I,” she agreed. “But that is part of what it means to live in a land at war.”

  The truth of her statement hit him hard. Here was this family—wife and children—who had made a choice to remain on their land despite the fact that they were living in dangerous times.

  “Dare I ask what you’re thinking?” she said. “Other than why I won’t answer your question regarding what you need to bring
with you to Mission San Jose?”

  “Won’t or can’t?” he asked.

  “The result is the same,” she said evenly, obviously refusing to rise to his level of irritation.

  And it was. Something in him settled then. The hard jolt of anger softened, and his hands unclenched.

  He looked at her then, really looked beyond the beauty of her face to the strength of her spirit. “I am thinking that you are much braver than I ever was.”

  Ellis laughed. “I doubt that. I am regularly terrified. It was all I could do to remain cowering in the brush while you went out and challenged whoever it was who had followed us. You are the brave one.”

  His fingers wrapped around the coffee mug, but they would have preferred to wrap around the auburn curls that escaped from Ellis’s braid. He would leave soon, heading toward Mission San Jose, though he did not yet know what awaited him there.

  He would miss her. Terribly.

  And for a man whose mind was unreliable at best, he knew that standing here at the river’s edge with a good cup of coffee and Ellis Valmont was a memory he would always have.

  Clay shook off the thought and finished the coffee in silence. After walking Ellis to the house, he set off to have a conversation with the neighbor. He found the man standing at the edge of his property looking down the road.

  The man was younger than he expected with dark hair and a suspicious look on his tanned face. Clay studied him to try to make a determination of whether he might be Texian or from farther south of the border, but his features were of the sort that allowed a man to pass unnoticed among a number of cultures.

  “You Mr. Vaughn?” he asked.

  After introducing himself, Clay added, “I wonder if I could speak to you about that pirogue you had stolen.”

  “No need to,” he said. “My neighbors returned it. Said there was a man shot up in it, which is why it came back bloodstained. What interest is it of yours?”

  “It was my blood staining that pirogue. I’d say that gives me a strong interest.” He allowed that to sink in, then added, “I’d be much obliged if I could look at it.”