by Lyn Cote
The past fear-filled days hung like a string of heavy weights around her neck. She wanted to lie down and sleep, sleep for a very long time. She wanted to shut out the memories of being forced, carried away, touched by rough, rude hands. Tears came on and off and she couldn’t stop them. She cried silently and tried to hide this from the men.
“I’m dirty,” she said, surprising herself when she heard her voice in the silence around the fire.
Scully sat up straighter. “Come. I’ll take you to the creek. You can wash up.”
“Wait,” Carson said. He dug into his saddlebag, pulled out a towel and then some clean cotton underclothing, a shirt, and trousers. He handed the bundle to Scully. “There’s soap wrapped in the towel. Clean clothing might make her feel better.”
Alandra noticed that Carson talked about her as if she was there but not conscious. That didn’t surprise her either. She felt as if part of her had been left behind with her vaqueros when she was kidnapped. Only a shadow of herself was present here.
Scully started to lead her away from the fire.
“Lonnie,” Carson said, “you’ll be all right when we get to Ma. She always knows what to do.”
Carson’s use of his childhood nickname for her touched her deeply. It was as if he had wrapped his arms around her and kissed her cheek with soft baby lips, like when he was little. But she didn’t feel like Lonnie. Somehow she felt as if she’d been stripped naked and dumped in the town plaza for all to see.
But why did she feel that way? She shuddered and tottered on her wobbly feet. Still, she did not wish to worry the men more than she already was. “Thanks, Carson. I’m going to be fine,” she said, lying out of love.
She leaned against Scully, her steps unsure. He led her along the steep creek bank to a place thick with bushes and pines, then steered her down closer to the water. “I think this will give you some privacy,” he told her. “I’ll stay here while you undress behind those bushes. Don’t worry. I’ll be watching out for you.”
She nodded and took the bundle that contained the towel and clothing from him. The idea of undressing out in the open, something she couldn’t remember ever doing before, seemed as unreal as everything else. She went to the bushes Scully had pointed out and shed almost all her clothing. Then, wearing only her white cotton chemise, she took the bar of homemade soap from the towel and waded into the water.
The fact that Scully was watching her didn’t seem to matter. On some level she felt that she did not need to hide herself from his honest gaze. He would never look at her as the leering bandidos and sailors had. Their lustful grins alone had made her feel dirty, tainted.
She inhaled deeply. The night was warmer than it had been for a long time. Spring had arrived while she’d been dragged across Texas. The creek water, however, was chilling. Barefoot, she walked carefully over pebbles and sand out into the stream, where it flowed deeper.
Her teeth chattering, she quickly scrubbed every inch of her skin and hair, then knelt and rinsed herself. She nearly lost the soap but managed to grab it back, slippery as it was. Staggering back to the sandy bank, she nearly fell, her feet numb and bruised. Gooseflesh had risen all over her skin.
“Are you all right?” Scully asked with concern, obviously trying to reassure her. In vain.
“Cold.” She shivered violently and hurried into the cover of the bushes. Dancing from bare foot to foot, she shed her soaked chemise, dried herself, and donned Carson’s clean underwear and clothing. It was too big for her in some places and tight in others. The washing and the drying had chilled her and warmed her at the same time. She felt whole, fresh, cleansed. But a sense of deep insecurity kept her hollow, on edge.
Alandra looked at her crumpled filthy riding habit and other clothing draped over the bush and couldn’t bring herself to even claim it. She stood there refusing to touch the garments. “Scully,” she finally called.
“What’s wrong?” he said, coming closer.
“Can we just burn this dress?”
“Sure.” He snatched up the clothing and gripped her hand. “Come. I’ll throw it on the fire and then get you warmed up.”
And he did. She watched the orange flames devour her discarded clothing. Scully took her to his saddle, which served as his pillow. Lying down, he wrapped a blanket around himself and opened his arms.
Lying in a man’s arms was something she’d never done before. The filthy things the bandits had said to her, embarrassing her and demeaning her, washed over her like dirty water. But this is Scully. He’s sworn to protect me. He is my husband. He is not like them.
She knelt down and, turning her back to him, eased up against him. She shivered once, violently, as she let him fold the blanket closed in front of her. On the other side of the fire, Carson had already turned in and was lying wrapped in his own blanket.
Then she heard Quinn’s voice. He had returned quietly, from wherever he’d gone, and it came from the darkness away from the fire. “Scully, Carson and I are going to split watch tonight. You just keep our girl warm.”
Our girl. She recalled sitting at the table at Quinn’s rancho just a little over a month ago and hearing him call her our little Alandra. She’d been upset with him that night, upset that he had called her “little.” Tears streamed down her face. She hoped Scully wouldn’t say anything about all her crying. She wanted to treat her tears as if they were like the rain—outside of her, beyond her.
He began to stroke her damp hair. He lifted it away from her toward the fire as if to help it dry and continued in a steady, mesmerizing rhythm, soothing her. The fire crackled and an owl hooted in the distance. So quiet.
I’m safe here.
But then she recalled what Quinn had said—that he and Carson would keep watch. That meant danger still lurked. She pressed herself closer to Scully’s strength. After all, the Comanche renegades had stolen her from her own bed. Was anywhere in Texas safe? Would she ever feel safe again?
A low moan woke Scully. He sat up and found Alandra whimpering in her sleep, “No, no, no.” Should he wake her? She moaned again.
He shook her. “Wake up, Alandra. You’re having a nightmare. Wake up—”
She was struggling with him. He took hold of her thin arms and she jerked. Her eyes flew open. “Help.” She panted.
“Alandra—”
“Scully?” she said, looking at him, still struggling.
“Yes, I’m here. You’re safe. You’re safe.”
She stopped trying to get away. “You’re hurting me,” she whimpered. “My arms are bruised. Please.”
The note of stark entreaty in her voice hit him hard. He loosened his hold on her arms but did not release her. “I’m sorry,” he said, making his voice low and gentle. “I didn’t know I was hurting you. You were having a nightmare. But we found you and you’re safe now.” He tugged her close to him. “Let me warm you and then you can get back to sleep. I’m here. Don’t worry.”
She allowed him to draw her to lie down with her back tucked against him. He didn’t know what else to do for her. But he felt that he should touch her again as he had when he tried to dry her wet hair earlier. That had seemed to calm her into sleep. He brushed her loose hair back from her face, letting himself savor the thicker texture of her hair and her smooth skin.
A memory came to him from long ago when he was very little. His second mother sat beside him, stroking his back and singing “Amazing Grace.” He didn’t sing much, but he began to hum that old hymn that his second ma had loved to sing. He whisper-sang into Alandra’s ear:
“Through many dangers, toils and snares…
we have already come.
“Twas Grace that brought us safe thus far…
and Grace will lead us home.”
Father in heaven, make this so. My almost-wife is hurting and I don’t know how to fix it.
Standing in the yard behind Buena Vista, Dorritt looked up as a vast flock of crows screeched overhead, flying north as fast as they could. And then sh
e glimpsed the white smoke in the direction of the town of San Felipe. A doe and two fawns hurtled past her, racing away from the town, followed by a stream of squirrels. Fire. The animals smelled fire. She recalled seeing this type of flight of birds and small animals and the sound of the fire bell in New Orleans. And then it rushed through her—the panic fire let loose.
Did this mean the Mexican Army had reached San Felipe? No time to think. They might be coming for them. Taking the hand of the silent little girl, she raced toward the house, calling, “Amos! Nancy!”
Amos came running from where he had been hoeing in his freshly planted garden patch, and Nancy looked out the upstairs window where she was tending the wounded men.
“The Mexicans must be burning the town!” Dorritt shouted to them. “Get the men downstairs and we’ve got to run, hide!”
The three of them managed to help the men down the stairs and outside. Amos ran to get her horse out of the barn. They loaded the men onto it and, as fast as they could, headed for the surrounding woods that lined the property on the west.
Dorritt remembered her trip long ago on to Texas, watching in horror as Mexican soldiers burned a Caddo village and chased down the men, women, and children. She’d hoped she would never see such terror again, or feel it, and realized she was praying out loud, “Lord, help us! Lord!”
Gasping, they entered the woods and had to slow down. “Follow me,” Amos said, “I found a good place for us. They won’t find us unless they come deep in here.”
The afternoon shadows crowded around them as Amos led them to an area of dense fir trees. They slipped into a cocoon of branches thick with pine needles and peered back toward the columned house.
Dorritt stroked her mare and murmured to her, keeping her still. The little girl pressed herself into her skirts as if hiding there. The wounded men sat huddled together on the ground, holding their heads in their hands. Would the Mexicans pass by or follow the lane to Buena Vista?
Thirteen
The next afternoon they rode up the lane of Buena Vista and Scully pulled on his reins in shock. The big house they’d been inside just days ago had been severely damaged by fire. Scully glimpsed Mrs. Quinn running toward them down the lane. Quinn swung down from his horse and gathered her into his arms. “Woman, I told you to stay home,” he growled into her ear. “Why don’t you ever mind?” And then he held her against him and kissed her over and over.
She chuckled, clinging to him.
A little towheaded girl Scully didn’t recognize appeared and went directly to Carson, who bent down and reached a hand to her. “Hi, little lady. See, I came back.”
“What happened here?” Scully asked with Alandra sitting up behind him, her arms encircling him. He had been hoping this could be a safe place for her, but saw that the roof had nearly burned away. The charred walls, though still standing, exposed the blackened interior in places. The telltale odor of burned wood drifted on the breeze.
The sight tightened his jaw. It was clear now that they couldn’t leave the women here. But even more, it angered him to see the Mexicans burning what others had worked hard to build. He remembered how lovely the house had been, furnished with rich dark woods and shiny brocades.
The ruined house showed the same abuse his beautiful wife had suffered. He placed his arm over where her hands met at his belt buckle, trying to bolster her spirits. You will be well again, Alandra. And have the life you deserve.
Carson slid from his horse and, leading a little blond girl by the hand, moved toward his mother. Quinn stepped back from his wife and asked the question Scully had been waiting to voice, “What happened here?”
“I can’t quite believe it still.” Mrs. Quinn was hugging Carson. “We saw the smoke from San Felipe and we headed away into the woods to hide.”
Scully clenched his reins tighter. The slave Amos and his wife Nancy came forward, with the two men Scully and Quinn had brought from Goliad limping along behind. Scully nodded to them. “Santa Anna has passed us, then,” he said. Anger and disappointment like flint on rock sparked within him. Were they cursed? Would they always catch up with the armies just in time to sit and watch them fight?
Dorritt Quinn gave a dour look. “No, it wasn’t Santa Anna. Sam Houston burned San Felipe. And the fire spread through the poplar trees to here. The only thing that saved the house from burning to the ground was a rain shower that put out the flames.” She shivered and rubbed her arms.
Sam Hosuton had burned San Felipe just like Gonzales, Scully thought. And it put them in a bad position—between two armies. We can’t tarry here. We must get going. Fast.
“There wasn’t no way for us to fight the fire,” Amos added. “We just got hid and then we were watching the Texas Army march by while the big house caught fire and burned.” The man shook his head. “It’s going to take a lot to rebuild it.”
Mrs. Quinn approached Scully’s horse. “Alandra, come down so I can hug you. I’ve been—we’ve all been—so worried about you. I’m so grateful to God to see you rescued safe.”
Scully was surprised that Alandra hesitated. Dismounting, he helped her down. Mrs. Quinn folded Alandra into a gentle embrace, kissing her forehead, then rocking her in her arms. But Alandra appeared stiff somehow.
“Houston burned Gonzales too,” Quinn commented, not looking happy as he gazed around at the devastation. “I know why he’s doing this. He doesn’t want the invading army to profit from what they can loot. But it seems like Texas is losing a lot to the Mexicans and their own army to boot.” He shook his head, looking disgusted.
Scully felt like snarling in agreement, but remained silent.
“That’s war,” Mrs. Quinn said, drawing away from Alandra but sending a decided nod over Alandra’s head to Scully. Then from behind Alandra, she added a beckoning motion with her hands. What was she trying to tell him? She cleared her throat. “I was in New Orleans when Andrew Jackson routed the British in 1815. I heard the musket fire and the cannon. And saw the fires burning in the swamps.” She shuddered but gave Scully another decided nod.
He realized that she must be signaling him to draw Alandra closer to himself. He did so. Alandra came without reluctance but kept her eyes lowered. He put an arm around her. She leaned against him but gave no hint of what she was feeling. He knew that she’d had another restless night. He had comforted her through more than one nightmare.
He thought back to the February night when he’d shot the Comanche who’d kidnapped her. She’d been hysterical then and jumpy for the next few days. But on that occasion she’d only been held against her will for one day. This time was worse. For over a week she had been at the mercy of lawless men. Now she seemed flattened somehow. He was at a loss over how to comfort her, to help her.
“The kitchen didn’t catch fire,” Amos went on. “We’ve been sleeping there while I build another jacal. All the slave jacales went up like tinder. And I’m trying to salvage what I can from the house. For the mistress. I’m going to build a shed to protect what’s left.” The man exhaled long and loud in disgust, shaking his head.
“If Sam Houston went through burning, then Santa Anna can’t be far behind,” Quinn said. “Amos, you will need to hide whatever you manage to salvage deep in that wooded area. And hope the Mexican Army is going too fast to loot and finish burning the house.”
Scully felt Alandra press closer to him. He put both arms around her. “What are we going to do with the women? I thought we could leave Alandra here with Mrs. Quinn—”
“You’re not leaving me anywhere!” Alandra reared back and struck his chest with her fist. “You’re not leaving me behind again, Scully Falconer!”
Her sudden burst of anger caught him by surprise. He encircled her small wrist with his hand to calm her.
“Alandra is right,” Mrs. Quinn said in a tone that threatened battle. “We are not staying here while you two—”
“Three or four,” Carson interrupted. He patted the little girl who was still clinging to him. “I’
m not staying here. I’ve come this far and I’m fighting. I showed what I could do in Matagorda.”
At the word “Matagorda,” Alandra collapsed against Scully’s chest as if she’d just run completely out of energy. He closed his arms around her, feeling her trembling against him. He hated how frail she felt in his arms. He hated everything about the situation they faced, but what good did that do?
Quinn looked put-out and propped his hands on his belt. “War is no place for women.”
“That’s nonsense,” Mrs. Quinn said. “My grandmother accompanied her husband and son as they fought in the American Revolution. She told me that George Washington usually had around three thousand women and children in family camp. They followed the Continental Army throughout the Revolution. Who do you think did the cooking, laundry, and tended the sick? Even the British and German officers brought their wives and children from Europe.”
Scully couldn’t mistake the fire in Mrs. Quinn’s fine eyes. Quinn kicked the dirt road with the toe of his boot. The sound of a mockingbird and a few crows filled the human silence.
Scully scanned the burned-out mansion. He and Quinn had no choice. “I can’t leave Alandra here. The Mexican Army is sure to be coming this way. Our women wouldn’t be safe, Quinn.”
“Pa—” Carson began.
“I know.” Quinn didn’t sound happy. “Even when I was thinking that we could leave our wives here in Carson’s care, I knew the Mexican Army was prowling around. And unfortunately, there are always bandits and looters, unscrupulous men who will take advantage of disordered times like these.”
Quinn looked into Scully’s eyes. Scully wondered if the men they were forced to shoot in Matagorda were weighing on Quinn’s mind, as they were on his. The worry was that there were probably more lawless men like them swarming over Texas like birds of carrion, scavenging. Neither he nor Quinn could risk letting their wives fall into such hands. Scully pressed Alandra closer.
“A battle doesn’t happen in a minute,” he said, anger at being forced into this dreadful position leaping to life inside. “The women would have time to take cover away from the shooting. I’m not leaving my wife here unprotected.” He was surprised that the word “wife” had issued from his lips without any qualms.