The Alamo Bride

by Kathleen Y'Barbo

  “Oh,” Ellis said as she linked arms with Clay. “Thomas told me the best news. Papa is at Gonzales with General Houston. Apparently he has become an aide to the general. He is hoping to make a trip to the Alamo soon.”

  Though her tone was light, her meaning was clear.

  “That is good news,” Clay said. “I’m sure you will have much to discuss with him when you see him again. In the meantime, would you mind if I borrowed your sister, Valmont? I’m leaving soon and would like to have a word with her.”

  Ellis grinned and rose, but Thomas stood as well. “I’d like a word first,” he told Clay. “In private.”

  They walked together to the other side of the garrison where Thomas stopped beneath a tree beside the north barracks wall. Though he had maintained decent humor toward Clay while in his sister’s company, he now dispensed with the farce.

  “I want to know who you are and why you think you can compromise my sister as you have,” he demanded, his eyes narrowed and a flush of obvious anger rising up his cheeks.

  “Compromised,” Clay managed. “I’ve done nothing of the sort. What kind of stories has she been telling you about me?”

  “It is what she hasn’t told me that has me worried,” he muttered through a clenched jaw. “You were alone with her for five days traveling to San Antonio de Béxar. Two nights sleeping together unmarried on a steamboat and three in the back of a wagon.”

  “Hold on now,” Clay said. “Two nights on the deck of a steamboat with two horses separating us and dozens of passengers as our chaperones. And three nights with all our supplies stacked between us. I assure you nothing happened to compromise your sister, so stand down, soldier.”

  Clay thought he had defused the situation with his strong words. Then Ellis Valmont’s brother punched him. Twice.

  Before he could land a blow, Thomas’s comrades had Clay in arms. To his credit, with Clay unable to defend himself, Thomas took a step backward.

  “Hit him again, Valmont,” one of them challenged. “He’s a Grey. He ain’t one of us. Whatever he did, he deserves a good thrashing.”

  It occurred to Clay that the problem of what to do about his feelings for Ellis Valmont could be solved right now. If he admitted to compromising her, then her brother would likely haul the two of them off to a padre and have them married before the lunch bells rang. On the other hand, if he argued the point, three members of the very same army the Greys were trying to help could very well beat him to a pulp.

  He opted for the third option. “I said stand down, soldier.”

  Thomas looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. And then he started laughing.

  “You heard the Grey,” Thomas said. “Stand down.”

  The moment the men released him, Clay returned the favor and landed a blow to Thomas’s midsection. “Never accuse me of impropriety with your sister,” he told the man as he doubled over in pain and his friends once again grabbed hold of Clay’s arms. “I love that woman and would never harm her reputation.”

  This time none of them stood down, but they did allow him to walk away with no more bruises than a man with his level of stupidity deserved. He had almost reached the corner of the garrison when Thomas caught up to him.

  Stepping in front of him, Ellis’s brother stuck out his hand in an offer to shake. “Welcome to the family, Grey.”

  Clay shook his head. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’ve never met a man more suited to marrying my sister than you. I just hope you live long enough to smarten up and ask her.”

  Reaching out to accept the handshake, Clay laughed. “I hope so too.”

  Ellis came around the corner then and stopped short. She took in their disheveled appearance and likely what was a rising bruise under Clay’s left eye.

  “What in the world have you two been up to?” she demanded, her hands on her hips.

  “Nothing,” they said in unison as they both fell into a fit of laughter.

  Thomas pressed past Ellis, pausing long enough to kiss her on the top of her head before moving along. When Clay reached her, she put her hand out to stop him.

  “What happened to your eye? Did my brother do that?”

  He grinned. “Not everyone is smart enough to land a punch where he doesn’t have to give an explanation.”

  Now that she knew Thomas and her father were safe, a weight was lifted from Ellis’s shoulders and the days went by quickly. Though Papa had written that he hoped to join them for Christmas, that did not happen. Ellis longed to tell him he was to be a papa again, but she would allow Mama that privilege. She wrote to her mother and to Grandfather Valmont and told them how her letters could reach Papa.

  She also enjoyed her time with Thomas and the occasional visit she had with Clay. The two seemed fast friends now, which she found odd since they did not seem to get on so well at their first meeting.

  Though there were few women and children at the Alamo, Ellis managed to befriend them all. She told the little ones stories and helped the women with the cooking and washing. When called upon, she also acted as healer.

  Her first real friend there, Susanna Dickenson, introduced herself shortly after she arrived. The wife of Captain Almaron Dickenson, she was the mother of a delightful baby girl named Angelina. Ellis and Susanna spent many hours conversing over their chores. Her time with Susanna made the wait for Clay’s return much easier.

  Supplies were meager and morale was beginning to fall among the soldiers. Rumors abounded that General Santa Anna and his massive Mexican army were marching their way. With her supply of herbs dwindling, Ellis determined to go and find what she needed. Though Thomas had ordered her to stay inside the compound, there had been little in the way of a threat for what seemed like ages.

  Besides, it was a beautiful afternoon and uncharacteristically warm. She alerted Susanna to her mission and asked if she would like to come along. Unfortunately, little Angelina was fussy, so she declined.

  Ellis loaded her pistol and tucked it into her pocket and then took up her basket. Walking past the sentries, she promised them she wouldn’t be long.

  And she would not, for she’d had word that Clay would be coming in to deliver a message to the new commander. Now that Colonel Travis had assumed the post, the Greys were often seen at the garrison.

  Perhaps this visit would be the one where Clay told her that his men would be coming to stay here. The herbs and medicinal plants that grew near San Antonio de Béxar were more difficult to find. Thus, it took Ellis much longer than she expected to fill her basket.

  The sun was sinking as the garrison appeared in the distance. Tired, hungry, and more than a little frustrated that she hadn’t paid more attention to the time, Ellis picked up her pace. Then she heard the cannon fire once. And then twice.

  As she rounded the corner, she came face-to-face with a Mexican soldier who appeared barely old enough to be in uniform.

  “Doctora,” she said as she held up the basket filled with herbs.

  He shot her anyway.

  Clay expected to hear the cannons in the distance. He did not expect to hear gunfire so close. Reining in his mount, he rounded the corner to see a young Mexican soldier standing over someone on the ground. In his hand was a basket of some sort. He seemed to be digging through it for something.

  At the sight of Clay’s approach, the soldier tossed the basket aside and drew his weapon. Clay quickly assessed the situation. It appeared the soldier was a scout sent out alone. Or perhaps his companion had fled at the sight of a Texian soldier.

  In either case, the man had been caught in the middle of robbing a person already dead or had been the one who pulled the trigger. The second being the more likely scenario, Clay decided, when the soldier tossed the basket away and sighted his weapon.

  “I will let you live if you walk away now,” he told the soldier. “Just go.”

  His ability to speak Spanish had failed him this time, or the soldier had no care for Clay’s warning. He continued to st
and there as if his next act would be to dispatch Clay just as he had obviously done with this civilian.

  “Go,” Clay repeated.

  The man set the sight against his eye, the barrel of the rifle now aimed directly at him. Then, from nowhere, a noise crackled through the air. The Mexican soldier crumpled.

  Clay jumped off his horse and ran, closing the distance to remove the soldier’s weapon. Then he turned to see if he could identify the civilian.

  “Ellis.”

  Black rage mixed with fear flooded him as he gathered her into his arms. Blood stained his jacket, but still he held her against him.

  “Clay,” she whispered, and he nearly cried out with joy. She was alive. Ellis was alive. But there was so much blood.

  “Ellis, I love you. Do not die,” he said as he took off his jacket and held it against the source of the blood.

  From somewhere behind him he heard footsteps. Heard yelling and words and names being shouted but there was nothing, there was no one, just him and Ellis and all the blood and the anger that flowed as red as that blood.

  Then someone wrenched her from his arms. Clay came up swinging.

  The world tilted and then Thomas Valmont stepped in front of the men who held his arms back. “Stand down, soldier,” he told him. “We’re taking her to Pollard at the hospital.”

  The rest of the night and following day was spent in a haze of white-hot fear and blood-red anger. Clay paced, he prayed, and then he paced some more. Finally in the middle of the next afternoon, Amos Pollard lifted the ban on visitors in his hospital and allowed Clay inside.

  He stepped into the room where Ellis lay—not the sickroom where the soldiers were kept, but a smaller and more comfortable chamber that Clay had been told was the doctor’s own quarters. The walls here were painted in the bright color that was common in Mexican homes, and the bedposts had been carved with flowers of all sorts.

  Ellis lay still and quiet, white as the linen that wrapped her up to her chin with her flame-red hair spread out on her pillow. Clay froze.

  Though he had determined he would neither cry nor allow Ellis to see how terrified he was at the prospect of losing her, Clay did both the moment he fell on his knees beside her bed. How long he knelt there, he had no idea. When a hand touched his shoulder, he jumped to his feet.

  “I didn’t mean to surprise you.” The man stuck out his hand. “Name’s Amos Pollard. I understand you found her.”

  Clay managed a nod. Anything further seemed impossible.

  “She’s lucky,” he said. “Either the man who shot her had terrible aim or she surprised him.”

  “I don’t believe in luck,” he said, thinking back to Thomas Valmont’s take on that subject. “The Lord takes care of us in His own way. If we manage to have something go our way, we figure it’s because it is His way.”

  Pollard smiled. “Well then, I will rephrase my statement. The Lord has taken care of this young lady, and I believe with care she will be just fine.”

  “With care?”

  He shrugged. “If she were my daughter—and I have one, you know—I wouldn’t allow her to stay here. You see for yourself what is outside these gates. I don’t think it will be long before they’ll make a try for us.”

  “Then I will take her to safety.”

  “That is wise,” he said, “though she won’t be fit to travel far. I suggest you move her to the mission at San Jose. She should be safe there for now.”

  Thomas Valmont appeared in the doorway. “Consider it done.”

  “No,” Clay snapped. “She will not be safe there.”

  Pollard shrugged. “You two decide. I’ve got somewhere else to be, but please do not tarry in making your choice. It won’t be long before no one will come or go from this place.”

  When the surgeon was gone, Clay let out a long breath. “I cannot trust her safety at the mission because there are people there who mean her harm. A woman tried to lure her out of the mission with the promise of seeing you. She said you’d been taken by the Mexicans and were marching to the border but she could facilitate your escape. It was a lie, of course, because you were here all along.”

  Thomas laughed, and it was all Clay could do not to punch him. “Was her name Rose?”

  “Maybe,” Clay said slowly. “Why?”

  He shook his head. “Because I’d been told that my sister was looking for me by one of the sentries.”

  “Yes,” Clay said. “I did inquire about you when I first arrived here. When I saw the conditions, I knew I couldn’t allow Ellis to stay, so I took her with me to Mission San Jose.”

  “Rose meant her no harm, I promise.”

  “How could you know?” he demanded. “She lied.”

  “To protect me,” Thomas said. “Rose and I are, well … we are acquainted. I hope someday to make an offer of marriage to her. But that will be after this war is over—if we survive it.”

  Clay shook his head. “She was going to lure Ellis out into the night. She told her to be prepared to go at a moment’s notice.”

  “Because she would be taking her to me.” Thomas shrugged. “I had to make arrangements. It took time. And I certainly couldn’t meet her at the mission, considering …”

  “Considering what?”

  “Considering Rose’s father does not approve of me. I’ve been ordered to stay away.” He nodded toward the exit. “If you think the men out there have it in for us, that is nothing compared to how Rose’s family feels about me. Not that it’ll matter when the time comes. We will marry one way or another.”

  “I see.”

  “However, I think an exception could be made for my sister,” he said. “My suggestion is we move her to Mission San Jose, and then we leave her in Rose’s care. When she can travel further, Rose will get her to safety.”

  Clay managed a nod of agreement but nothing else. Thomas clapped his hand on Clay’s shoulder. “She will live to torment us both again. I promise.”

  At this, he did manage a smile.

  Ellis opened her eyes to a room filled with color. And flowers. Were they real? She narrowed her eyes and tried to focus. Perhaps. Or perhaps they were merely carved into the surface of the wood. They moved, swirling in and out until she had to close her eyes to make them stop.

  The air was cold, but beneath the blankets she felt warm. Her arms were filled with lead, or so it seemed, and she was completely unable to do anything other than hold her eyes open for a few brief moments. Until the flowers began swirling again.

  The next time she opened her eyes, the room looked completely different. The walls were white, and the sun blazed down upon a quilt that she had seen before. Somewhere. A lifetime ago.

  A crucifix hung on the wall just beyond her. She looked into the face of Jesus and closed her eyes. Feathers. Something about feathers.

  “Ellis?”

  Someone called her from far away. She opened her mouth to respond but could not. Instead she fell into the silence and dreamed about feathers. Lots of feathers. And then just two of them.

  “I think we should stop giving her that sleeping potion,” someone said.

  “It’s helping her,” another voice argued.

  “Yes, but she has to wake up sometime.”

  Feathers. Two feathers.

  “Wake up, Ellis.”

  The words were insistent almost to the point of rudeness. She opened her eyes to say so but found her mouth so dry she could barely form a sound.

  Water found its way to her lips and she drank. A woman stood nearby. “Not too much, Marianna. She’s only just coming out of her sleep.”

  Rose. Yes, she remembered her. The other woman, younger and rounder of face, came into view holding a brightly colored pitcher. Marianna, yes.

  “Your daughter, how is she?”

  Rose translated as Marianna grinned. “She is good,” the young woman said in heavily accented English.

  “How did I come to be back at Mission San Jose?” she asked as she struggled to sit up unt
il an overwhelming pain forced her to allow Rose to help.

  The women exchanged looks and then Marianna slipped from the room with a worried expression. Rose moved a chair near the bed and sat down.

  “You were shot,” she told her. “Do you remember any of it?”

  “Shot? No,” she said, although she did recall an afternoon when she strayed too far while gathering herbs. But too far from where?

  “The Alamo,” Rose was saying, and then she began to cry.

  “Am I that bad off?” Ellis said. “It seems as though I will recover.”

  Rose nodded and reached for the handkerchief she kept in her pocket. Once she dabbed her eyes dry, she began again.

  “The surgeon was able to clean your wound. He insisted you be moved here and not be disturbed until the healing was successful. Marianna and I have been using your herbal medications the way you taught us and seeing to you since …” Tears sprang fresh, and this time the handkerchief could not contain them. “Oh Ellis …”

  “What is it?” Ellis demanded. “If it is not me, then what?” She paused as a feeling of dread coursed through her. “Then who?”

  “All of them,” she managed. “He took all of them.”

  She leaned forward, ignoring the pain that it caused her. Grasping Rose’s hand, she shook it. “What are you talking about? Please tell me.”

  Through the tears, she gasped a cry and then shook her head. “The Alamo. They let the women and children live, but they killed the rest.”

  Ellis shook her head as the words swirled around in her mind. They formed and then scattered, refusing to become a clear thought.

  Finally the idea of what she’d heard took hold. “The Alamo has fallen?” At Rose’s nod, she felt the breath in her lungs freeze. “When?”

  “Nearly two weeks ago now. Sixth of March, it was.”

  “Thomas?” she managed.

  “Gone. Clay too. And your papa. Thomas had only just written of his arrival and now this.”

  Ellis wailed then, giving vent to what she could no longer say. She closed her eyes. Feathers. Two feathers.