by Lyn Cote
Alandra trembled from head to toe and had to force herself not to run toward the courtyard. Just as they entered, she whispered, “Don’t do that again—I beg you.”
“You told me to speak up like a Spanish husband.”
“That was before I knew the Mexican Army was coming to stay.” She leaned closer to his maddeningly calm face. “Santa Anna is not like anyone you’ve ever met. He is a dictator. He answers to no one.”
“That’s not true.”
She clutched his elbow tighter. How could she make him take this danger seriously? “Sí, it is.”
“No, every man answers to God.”
Scully’s reply silenced her. His words could have been spoken by Quinn or Dorritt. His words strengthened her and terrified her—both. Scully was not the same distante vaquero he had always been. The change was unmistakable, and it made matters here more precarious than they already were. She started to speak but Benito and Isabella entered the courtyard too, their presence silencing her. How could she make Scully realize the danger Santa Anna posed? How could she stop him from getting himself killed?
Night had finally come. Scully ushered his wife into their room and shut the door on their unwelcome guests. He had thought the three relatives from Mexico City were enough to contend with, but the addition of the big-headed general was testing the limit of his patience. He stretched his neck muscles, loosening the knots Fernando Sandoval and the fancy general had tied there. “How long do you think that general is going to stay?”
Alandra turned to him and gripped his upper arms. “Scully, how could you?”
He liked the feel of her small hands on him. He resisted the urge to encircle her small waist. “What are you talking about?”
“Speak to Santa Anna that way? He could have had you shot.”
He looked into her large dark eyes and realized how worried she was. “I just asked the man a few honest questions.”
“One does not question a man who holds the power of life and death over a nation.”
He didn’t like worrying her, but truth was truth. “I don’t hold with dictators. Americans don’t.”
“This isn’t America. It is Texas, a state of Mexico.”
Alandra sounded more than worried now. And she looked scared, her lower lip trembling. He touched her sleeve. “Don’t worry about me. I haven’t done anything wrong. I didn’t challenge Santa Anna to a fight, just that cousin of yours.”
She pulled away from him and began pacing. “How can I make you understand? Santa Anna doesn’t have to follow the law. He is the law. He can do what he wants. To anyone.”
Scully came up behind her. He couldn’t bear to see her upset. “I see what you mean. But acting weak doesn’t ever stop men like Santa Anna or Fernando. If a man shows weakness, they just get ornerier and act worse. I was letting them both know what they were in for—if they think they can take what belongs to others…take what belongs to you.”
Letting out a long sigh, Alandra rested her head against the bedpost. “You do not understand the kind of men those two are. They aren’t honest like you are.”
Her words were good to hear. And her nearness worked through him, bringing him fully alive. “Well, maybe I don’t know their kind. Maybe I don’t want to. And if I don’t, maybe I’m not the kind of man who should have married you.” The final words cost him.
“That is not the issue.” She turned and faced him. “No one could do better than you have. You are a strong man and a loyal one. I just do not want anything to happen to you.”
He looked over her head, not wanting to let her see how her approval, her coming face-to-face, her concern for his saftey affected him. “I’m here to protect you. That’s what the Quinns sent me here to do, and I’m doing it.”
“I know. But you must promise me that you won’t challenge either Santa Anna or Fernando again as you did today. You could be killed, Scully.” The way she said this left him off-kilter. She sounded genuinely worried about him, more worried than he’d guessed.
He plunged on, keeping his mind on the question at hand, not the lovely woman standing so close to him. “It seems to me a lot of people could be killed—will be killed. We’re in the middle of a war. I didn’t like some of the men at the Alamo, but they won’t back down. And if Santa Anna thinks he’ll have an easy time beating them, he’s wrong.”
Scully felt Alandra’s warm breath against his face. He resisted the attraction to her and went on. “Every time the Mexicans took on the Anglos last year, they lost way more men. Anglos are armed and know how to fight. And they won’t back down. Did you take a look at some of the Mexican troops that are camping around us? Most of them don’t look like they know which end of their sad muskets to point.”
“What does that matter to us?” Alandra went to the window, head down.
Didn’t she understand he was just stating the plain truth? “It matters because we’re in the middle of this war. And whether we like it or not, we may have to choose sides. I didn’t think that would happen. I mean, I’m not here as a settler.” He followed her, wanting her close again, but careful not to crowd her. “I’m just working for Quinn. But now the Mexican Army has marched right up to us. How am I supposed to ignore that?”
She touched the latch that held shutters tight and turned to him. “Won’t they just march away soon?”
“Yes, they will. But the outcome of the revolt could affect your title to this land. And Quinn’s title to his land. You see that, don’t you?”
She sat down on the edge of the large carved bed, staring down at the woven wool rug. “How did everything get so complicated?”
He went to the nearest bedpost and leaned a hand on it. Her dark hair gleamed in the low light. The room smelled of her, smelled of spicy sweet flowers. “I’m sorry if I worried you earlier, but I know men. I know how they think. It’s best I let them know right up front that taking Texas, taking Rancho Sandoval—neither is going to be easy.”
“I understand what you did, but it was dangerous. I…I am frightened.”
He heard in her voice how much it cost her to admit her fear—even in private here with him. He made a bold move and sat down beside her. “You’d be stupid if you weren’t worried. We got worry all around us. We can’t change that.”
She touched his arm. “I know. Your words are true. We cannot run. We must face this and see it through.”
“Si.” He wanted to put his arm around her but didn’t. And he couldn’t help wondering what tomorrow would drop on their doorstep. Could anything worse come than a Mexican general and two thousand troops camped outside?
Six days later Santa Anna and his troops were only a distasteful memory at Rancho Sandoval. Under the roof at the front of Ramirez’s house, Alandra stood speaking to him about the early planting that should start soon. War or no, the crops had to go in or her people would go hungry. The sky was gloomy and matched her lowering mood. Movement in the distance caught her eye. “Someone’s coming.”
Ramirez turned and muttered an oath under his breath. “Sorry, señora,” he apologized.
Alandra thought she understood. The last thing they needed was more company. Then she smiled. Some of the vaqueros she had ordered to keep watch on the most common approaches to the hacienda were escorting Quinn, Dorritt, Carson, Antonio, and a few of their vaqueros.
Alandra beamed. Now she could discuss Santa Anna, her relatives, her wedding, everything, with Dorritt and Quinn, and then it would all make sense. She hurried forward to greet them. Just as Quinn and Dorritt reached the hacienda, Scully walked out, hailing Quinn and waving.
Alandra rushed to Dorritt, who was riding sidesaddle. Joy—the first free feeling Alandra had experienced in days—bubbled up like spring water in the desert. “Tía Dorritt, I did not hope to see you! But are you well enough to ride here?”
Quinn swung down and went to help his lady from her horse. “You might well ask that. But you know your aunt when she’s made up her mind.”
Alandr
a was not fooled by Quinn’s scolding tone. His pride in his wife shone through his words. Alandra almost danced on her toes, as she had as a child. Tía Dorritt!
“I am quite well, or I would not have come,” Dorritt said as Quinn set her on her feet. “I decided I would be less jounced if I came on horseback. We rode at a slow pace and I was comfortable on my mount.” She turned to stroke her palomino.
Scully came up and shook hands with Quinn. “Glad to see you, sir.”
“Felicitaciones on your marriage,” Quinn said.
Alandra threw her arms around Dorritt, squeezing her to let her know how much she was welcome. “I have longed to see you.”
Dorritt hugged her close and whispered, “I’m sorry I couldn’t come earlier.” Then she said, looking toward the doorway, “When Carson told me that you and Scully were wed, I knew I must come.”
Alandra tried to think what to say to this and could not come up with anything. Her emotions about her wedding were beyond her understanding, as if shrouded by a mist. She had not given much thought of what her “family” would think of her marriage. Surely they accepted that it had been necessary, but only an expedient to protect her.
“Who are these people?” Benito stood in the doorway.
Alandra turned, an instant rage blistering her, making one thing clear. I don’t want you there any longer. She had hoped the three would leave with Santa Anna, but they had not wanted to go to San Antonio until the battle was won. “If it is any of your business, these are my Tía Dorritt and Tío Quinn.”
Dorritt laid a restraining hand on her arm. “Alandra, please remember your manners,” she murmured, swishing forward with her gloved hand held out. “How do you do?” She curtsied. “I am Señora Desmond Quinn, Alandra’s former guardian. May I make known to you my husband, Quinn?”
Benito looked disgruntled, but evidently could not be rude even to an Anglo who was so patently a lady with the whitest of skin. He bowed over Dorritt’s hand. “Good day, I am Benito Sandoval.”
Alandra noticed then that Quinn was wearing his black tight-fitting dress suit. In her joy at seeing her family, she had missed this very important fact. She chewed her lower lip, quelling a grin. Quinn approached Benito, his gloved hand out. “Desmond Quinn, your servant, sir.”
Alandra looked away to hide her amusement. Evidently, Dorritt had taken pains to show that she and Quinn knew how to dress and behave in society so that her Mexican relatives would be unable to dismiss them as inferiors. Carson followed his father, and he too was dressed for this visit in his finest dark suit, with a snowy white shirt and folded neck cloth. “We’ve met before, señor. I’m Carson Quinn.” And he bowed.
Benito looked even more disgruntled, but after bowing over Dorritt’s hand and shaking Quinn’s, he couldn’t very well dismiss Carson, so he shook his hand too.
“Why don’t we all go inside?” Dorritt said. “Carson told me that you have a lady with you from Mexico City. I would dearly love to discuss what the latest European fashions are in the capital.”
Again, Alandra hid a grin. Dorritt knew just how to act as gentry and thus put everyone else in their proper place.
And with that, Dorritt took charge of the situation. Both Fernando and Isabella also fell before Dorritt’s commanding presence. It was obvious to Alandra that this irked her Mexican relatives, but they were powerless to resist Dorritt’s sway. Their responses were polite but terse. And Dorritt behaved as if they were merely being courteous.
Only when Dorritt tried to detach Alandra from the group by suggesting a stroll did Isabella rise to the challenge.
“But I also would love to take a stroll around the rancho,” she said, standing along with them. “The rainy and chill weather and entertaining General Santa Anna here has kept me inside much too much.”
Dorritt could not refuse Isabella’s company, so the three ladies ventured out into the weak afternoon sun. “You say that you had the honor of entertaining the general?” Dorritt inquired politely.
Alandra had caught a sidelong glance Dorritt sent her upon hearing this news. What would her aunt say? Alandra looked down, hiding her expression.
“Sí.” Isabella preened just like Fernando had. “We are old friends and had traveled from Mexico City with him. When we were told we were near Rancho Sandoval, we left his company.”
“I wondered how it was possible for you three to venture from the capital with only four armed men,” Alandra said truthfully.
“Yes,” Dorritt agreed, “the Comanches are a danger to travelers, especially those from Mexico.”
Isabella shuddered at this. “I do not know how you bear living here in the wilderness. And the climate is so cold.”
“It is an acquired taste,” Dorritt replied with serenity. “Though I grew up in New Orleans, I find cities confining and unhealthy now. This land has a wild beauty that I find irresistible.”
In the midst of this stilted conversation they saw a lone rider, calling and waving his arm. As he approached the hacienda, Alandra recognized him as one of her own vaqueros whom she’d dispatched to San Antonio a day after the general and troops left, going north. She had asked him to watch from a distance and return with news about what happened in Bexar. Her heart began beating faster as she watched him gallop toward them.
The man drew up in front of her. “Doña,” he gasped, “the Alamo has fallen and the generale had everyone in the old fort slaughtered except for a woman and child and a few servants.”
Horror flowed through Alandra, nearly taking the breath from her. “No.”
Isabella laughed. “So that is that for the rebellion. The generale would teach the angloamericanos who was in control in Texas.”
Alandra could not speak. The idea that many men had been killed, slaughtered like cattle, left her speechless.
Dorritt stared at Isabella. “You rejoice when men are killed? What kind of woman are you? Have you no heart?”
Isabella flushed. And turned and marched away.
Dorritt put her arm around Alandra. “Be strong,” she said, and then recited familiar verses: “The wicked have drawn out the sword, and have bent their bow…Their sword shall enter into their own heart, and their bows shall be broken.’”
Alandra pressed her face into Dorritt’s shoulder, her heart pounding in her ears. “I can’t believe it. What will happen now?”
Alandra, Scully, Dorritt, Quinn, and Carson stood by the carriage the following day as her relatives prepared to leave for San Antonio, now in Mexican hands again. Alandra’s hand itched to slap the smug expressions from their faces.
“We will bid you Godspeed then,” Dorritt said, not concealing her desire for them to leave and now.
Fernando ignored her. “Mi prima, we will present your father’s will to the magistrate in San Antonio and then return to Mexico City with Santa Anna. It should not take long to get a favorable ruling on the will and a favorable end to this Anglo rebellion.” Wearing a scornful expression, he bowed, helped Isabella into the carriage, and then followed his father inside. He closed the door, still smirking at them.
Alandra watched the carriage turn and move out of their sight. She had never been happier to see guests leave.
And now what was to be said, to be done? She was aware that all her servants had gathered in the doorway behind her and that her vaqueros and peons were standing nearby. All looked as if they were waiting for something. She glanced up into Scully’s face, which was in shadow under the brim of his hat. Who would speak first?
“We need to talk over what we’re going to do,” Quinn said, opening the discussion, but then he began walking away. Alandra and the others followed him toward the barn.
“Are we going to fight, Pa?” Carson asked. His voice cracked, embarrassing him.
Quinn looked back. “I never thought I’d say this, but I think I need to go and take part in this rebellion.”
Dorritt placed a hand on his arm. “That’s what I thought you’d say.”
“How do
you figure that?” Scully directed his question to Quinn as he walked alongside Alandra.
Alandra looked at him in surprise. Was this the same man who had challenged Santa Anna to his face? Did he doubt what must be done?
Quinn drew in a long breath. “I don’t like most of the angloamericanos who live near San Felipe—my father-in-law, for instance. I don’t hold with their owning slaves. But that’s another issue altogether.”
He entered the barn and went directly to the stall where his mount was. “Right is right. There are laws in war. Indians have their laws, their ways, and Anglos have theirs. Anglos don’t slaughter men they’ve defeated. Mexicans are different. They slaughter. They did that to American mustangers and to that Padre Hidalgo when he led a revolt before the angloamericanos came.”
Alandra’s people, having followed them, crowded around the wide-open barn doors. Quinn’s calm voice was in sharp contrast to the tension in their expressions.
“So it comes down to this.” Quinn turned and faced them all. “Do I want the Mexicans to win or the Anglos? I must side with the Anglos in this. Maybe that’s because of all the years I’ve lived with this woman”—he squeezed Dorritt’s hand—“or maybe it’s from my father who was an American.
“I don’t know. But I know what I must do. My honor demands I fight with the Anglos. Santa Anna and the government in Mexico City have violated the Constitution of 1824. Mexico was to have a president, not a dictator. I’m against tyranny. How can a free man submit to any one man having all the power?”
Quinn did not often give a long speech like this. Alandra realized that she agreed with everything he had said—even though she was a Tejano. She looked to Scully. What would his stand be? And where would it lead them all?
Eight
Scully looked at Alandra and then at Quinn. A time for decision had come. Till now he’d just been riding the rapid current, but now he must dip his paddle into the water and set his own course. He knew what he must say. “You’re right. I don’t hold with having men like that Santa Anna in charge. I don’t own any land here but that doesn’t matter.” Alandra does.