by Lyn Cote
“We meet again, El Presidente,” Alandra said, her words vibrating with heart-deep disdain. She folded her arms and sneered at him. He was dressed like a common soldier and his face was ashen.
Santa Anna stared at her. “You have the advantage of me, señora.”
She lifted her chin. “I am Mrs. Scully Falconer and doña of Rancho Sandoval.” She held onto herself tightly. She wanted to spring forward and scratch out the man’s eyes. How many good men had died because of this butcher?
Appearing dazed, Santa Anna made no reply to her, but addressed Houston. “I have come to surrender. I am General Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna, and a prisoner-of-war at your disposition.”
Alandra looked to Houston. The Texas general only took a moment to size up the man. By a motion of his hand, Houston gestured at a large tool chest that sat nearby and asked him if he’d like to sit down. Santa Anna did so, leaning forward. Crossing his arms, he pressed both of his sides with his hands.
Anger billowed within Alandra like steam from boiling water. She drew in air, shaking with outrage. Houston looked up at her. “You are sure that this is Santa Anna?”
She glared at the Mexican. “I have no doubt.” Her infuriated words felt hot in her throat. “I was forced to entertain him at my rancho before he slaughtered the brave men at the Alamo. This is the dictator of Mexico.” Sour acid flowed up into her mouth. She could have spit it in his face.
Ignoring her, Santa Anna looked to Houston. “My nerves are shattered. I see you have a doctor present. May I have some opium?”
“So your nerves are upset? Did not enough men die yesterday to suit you?” Alandra turned away, her revulsion pulsing, mounting.
To master herself, she knelt on the damp earth and began treating her patient, General Houston. The moist ground soaked into the knees of the trousers she was still wearing under her skirt. Another reminder of how Santa Anna had brought so many to misery. A foolish thought, but true. Why did God allow Santa Anna to stand here unharmed while Houston lay here in pain? Evidently Diablo took care of his own.
The doctor returned and handed the Mexican general the opium he had asked for. As soon as Santa Anna swallowed it, he began negotiating with Houston for his liberation. Gritting her teeth, Alandra made herself focus on soaking the general’s poultice in hot water and reapplying it.
“What is to be done with you does not lie in my power,” Houston declared, nearly snarling with the pain she was causing him. “Texas has an elected government and your freedom is in their hands.”
“I don’t like to deal with civilians,” Santa Anna snapped. “I abhor civilian governments. I would much rather deal with a military man. And, General, you can afford to be generous; you are born to no common destiny.” Santa Anna made a flourishing wave toward himself. “You have conquered the Napoleon of the West.”
Alandra hissed a mocking sound. Her hatred of this arrogant man reared inside her like a great serpent. She could not keep silent. “You dare flatter yourself even while you try to charm another. That will not work here.”
Houston smothered a chuckle but grinned broadly. “You see, General Santa Anna, even the women in Texas are fierce. And I cannot agree with you. My victory yesterday was not my doing but the achievement of the brave men who obeyed my orders.”
“This dictator will not understand men like my husband or my uncle Quinn, sir,” Alandra said as she fingered the general’s wound, working out the ugly infection. “I spoke to many of the dying Mexican soldiers last night and prayed with them. Many were Indians from Yucatan who had never wanted to fight. They had literally been dragged from their villages and forced onto boats at Vera Cruz.” Her hatred of this dictator ballooned inside her once again, as she thought about the injustice he’d brought about. “How many of them will ever be allowed to return to their homes?”
Houston’s gaze connected with hers. He smiled, but managed to ask her politely with his expression to let him handle the rest of the negotiations. She pursed her lips and nodded. She trusted this man.
Lifting himself on one elbow, Houston demanded, “Sir, how do you expect to negotiate after your actions at the Alamo?”
“General Houston, by the rules of war, when a fortress, insufficient to defend itself, is summoned to surrender, and refuses, and causes the shedding of human blood, the vanquished, when it was taken, are open to execution.” The man sounded as if he were reciting from a military text.
Alandra listened to the man’s defense of his indefensible actions and ground her teeth. Did he think he could hide behind such deception?
Houston did not appear impressed either. “That may have been the rule in the past, sir, but it is a disgrace now in the nineteenth century. And, General Santa Anna, you cannot give the same excuse for the massacre at Goliad. The men there surrendered but were betrayed, and slaughtered in cold blood!”
As Alandra continued working out the infection, she remembered Scully telling her about Goliad and then about his parents being killed by Indians as he hid in the well. How did humans like this Santa Anna think they could carry out these wretched crimes and never be held accountable?
Santa Anna looked away. “If they capitulated, I was not aware of it. General Urrea must have deceived me. I had orders from the Mexican government to execute all that were taken with arms in their hands.”
Houston replied, sounding grim, “General Santa Anna, you are the government. A dictator has no superior.”
“But I have the order of our Congress to treat all that were found with arms in their hands, resisting the authority of the government, as pirates. And Urrea has deceived me. He had no authority to enter into any agreement; and, if I ever live to regain power, he shall be punished for it.”
Did the man have no idea that his trying to place blame on others would be scorned by the free men standing there, listening. Alandra snorted as she had heard Quinn do many times when he was told a lie.
Houston sounded as if he had heard enough too, as he changed the subject, asking Santa Anna if he would like some refreshment and sleep. Santa Anna said he did, but as he rose from the tool chest, Houston stopped him. “I want you to write orders to your other generals to fall back to Monterrey. I will choose the Mexican couriers. In the orders, instruct your generals that you will not be released until all Mexican troops are off Texas soil.”
Santa Anna bowed and was led away to write the orders, then to eat and sleep.
Alandra finished wrapping the general’s ankle in a fresh dressing. She looked up at the doctor, who was gazing down at it too. He said, “I think, General, you will need to go to New Orleans and have further surgery. I’m sure that there are more bone fragments from the shattered ankle still in there. And none of us are as skilled in surgery such as you need.”
Houston exhaled long and loud as he lay back down. “This isn’t the first time I’ve been wounded in battle. Just keep gangrene from setting in, and when I can, I’ll take your good advice. Thank you, Doctor.”
Alandra said, “I will be back later. Now I am going to go do the same for my husband.” She gathered up the supplies.
Before she left, however, General Houston took her hand. “My thanks, and I hope the man you’ve married knows what kind of woman his wife is.” He grinned. “I expected at any moment for you to call Santa Anna out.”
She nodded and left. Her outrage at Santa Anna’s refusal to assume blame still simmered. The man had been defeated and reduced to wearing a common soldier’s uniform to avoid being identified and killed on sight. Still, he sought to justify his reprehensible actions. And refused to accept any responsibility for butchering unarmed men. Did he think the world was meant just for him and what he wanted?
Do you think the world was just meant for you and what you want?
It was a still, small voice, her own voice. But it slammed into her with astounding force. She staggered and nearly fell. The doctor, who had been behind her, hurried forward and took her arm. “You must sit down for a while, ma’
am. You are overdone.”
She nodded and let him help her to a nearby willow tree, where she slid down to the ground and leaned against the rough trunk. “Do not worry about me, señor. I will be better soon.”
He nodded and left her with apologies. Many others needed his services more. Under the drooping willow branches, she stared around at the quiet, greening prairie and wondered what had just taken place. Leaning her head back, she stared up into the limitless sky.
Do you think the world was just meant for you and what you want?
She closed her eyes. She ached all over with the deepest fatigue she had ever known. Her clothing was caked with dirt and blood. And she did not have the strength or will to face her own words. But she heard them again, scolding her, prodding her conscience. She did not want to look at herself. Did not want to see that she was as self-centered as Santa Anna. Did not want to admit that she thought the world should suit the doña of Rancho Sandoval.
It is not true. I did not seek to control a nation.
But she had thought that regardless of the revolution, she should have peace and comfort. Others could suffer far from her as long as she did not have to see them and suffer the same hurt. That sounded so harsh. But was that not the truth? She knuckled her burning eyes like a fretful child. All of Texas could be under siege and in deadly peril, but not she, not Doña Alandra Sandoval.
She recalled Scully’s words: It’s not just us. Texas is bleeding. Texas is on its knees. He had spoken the truth. But had she thought her life was to remain untouched while Texas bled? That she was privileged? Above everyone else?
She rubbed her taut forehead as if to rub away this ugly truth. But it would not be erased. Dorritt had taught her what God thought of the proud. Not much.
Pride went before a fall. God had not ripped everything from her—her inheritance, her home, her peace of mind and safety. He had not abandoned her here hungry and desolate.
Evil men, wicked men, had moved against her. Fernando had wanted more land, wealth, and the power they brought. Mendoza had tried to wreak revenge on her. And Santa Anna had wanted to force every Texas knee to bow to him and call him lord. And since he had already seized control of the nation of Mexico, that pride, that arrogance, had unleashed this evil time, a war. And thousands had died and thousands had suffered, and would continue to suffer because men they loved had been lost here in Texas.
And I expected to be left alone, untouched. But I am not immune. I am not apart, but a part of Texas here and now. The fact that my rancho is one of the largest in Texas does not make me exempt from evil, from war, from history.
This was a violent time and she—along with the rest of Texas and Mexico—had suffered because of it. None of them would ever be the same for having lived through this ordeal. Where she sat on the ground, more wetness was seeping into her trousers and skirt—the doña sitting on the ground like a peon. And she did not care. What did appearances mean today?
Santa Anna had dressed as a common soldier to avoid being captured. But in the end he had realized that he had no other course than to surrender. He was not a man who could handle disaster. Even in defeat he had tried to claim superiority. I am the Napoleon of the West. Had he forgotten that Napoleon had died alone and in exile?
But General Houston had looked at Santa Anna for what he was. Hosuton had also looked at her and seen only her strength and spirit. He had called her a Texas woman, a fierce Texas woman. And that was all she wanted to be, nothing more.
A breeze moved the long spring green willow branches hanging above her. With a gentle rushing sound, the willow sighed around her. She breathed in deeply.
She had railed at God last night. She had demanded to know when the evil would end and why it had to be at all. Now she regretted her attitude with all her heart. God had not caused the evil. Wicked men, rebellious men, had done that.
Forgive me, Father. I forgot for a time. If all men obeyed you, war would not come. All this evil came upon not just me, but all of Texas. Yet when I prayed you would send Scully to save me, you did. And I prayed that Scully and Quinn would come through the battle, and they are still alive. Though thousands have prayed to you, you have not disdained my prayer. I am sorry for being so thankless. She hid her face in her hands, rocking like a lost child.
Carson had told her that it seemed as if the Mexicans had not even seen the Texians marching across a prairie in the midday sun. A miracle? Perhaps. And against overwhelming odds, the Texians had defeated the butcher at last. And Texas would be a free land with a government ruled by law and citizens who had rights. No more king or dictators.
She wondered for a moment if Santa Anna realized why he had lost to a much smaller army made up of civilian soldiers. Had he realized yet that a man like Quinn, who was fighting to protect his family, his home, and his rights as a free man, fought like a hundred of the poor souls Santa Anna had dragged from their homes and impressed into arms?
No, no doubt he did not. He had fallen for the Devil’s lie. Santa Anna had thought he could slaughter and go free. Now, instead, he begged for opium to ease the humiliation of defeat. And went on lying.
She rested against the bark and began to feel stronger. The truth could make one free, and it could evidently also give strength to those who were weakened, as she had been. She tried to think, plan, be practical. What should she do? What would God have her to do? Wonderful new ideas, new plans, began slipping into place in her mind. Her eyes opened wider.
Santa Anna was in the hands of the Texian government. The war was over. But both Quinn and Scully would need careful nursing to heal. And then they all faced getting home safely, finding Sugar’s family, and helping Texas return to normal.
She imagined riding up to her hacienda with Scully at her side. And all her people were rushing out to welcome them. A smile curved her mouth and new warmth began. There was much to do, so much new liberty in Texas—and it was for all.
She looked up through the green willow leaves toward the sun climbing higher. Arriving home starting fresh, that’s what she would look forward to. With Scully. They would pull their lives back together, with God’s blessings. There was much to do.
But would she lose her rancho through that awful will? Had this victory made her land safe? For a moment the fear of losing Rancho Sandoval flushed the warmth from her veins, filled them with cold water. She shut her mind to this dread. I must believe that God will save my land. And my husband.
Later, Scully woke to find sunshine lighting the tent and Alandra doing something to his wound. “What?” he mumbled. He didn’t like the way he sounded. He sounded weak.
She was lifting his head and holding a cup to his lips. He wanted to scold her and tell her he could do that himself. But bone-weariness, like a huge snake, had swallowed him whole. He could barely speak and moving took an amazing amount of effort. So he submitted to her helping him drink.
When the cup was empty, she lowered his head. “Your wound is infected and that causes the fever. That is why you feel weak. It will pass.”
He felt her applying a hot poultice to his wounds and stifled a cry. He didn’t want her to have to do this. He didn’t want a lady to have to see what must be a horrible sight, his flesh ripped and torn. He tried to stop her hand with his.
With ease, she slipped her hand from his loose grip. “I am fomenting your wounds just as Tía Dorritt taught me. I will keep doing this every day until the infection ends. Then the fever will leave you and you will gain back your strength.”
He found he couldn’t fight her. He was so drowsy and limp. And the poultice was at the same time agonizingly hot and blessedly soothing. He could almost feel the throbbing, hurtful swelling being drawn out. What could he do? He didn’t want her to have to do this dreadful task, but he needed her nursing. He nodded and muttered, “Thanks.”
She bent and kissed his forehead. “You will be well soon.” She whisper-sang into his ear the same words of “Amazing Grace” he had sung to her. But he liked to
be the one singing them, not the one sung to. He knew what his second ma would have said to that. Foolish pride.
“Santa Anna has given himself up,” Alandra said. “The war is over. We won.”
“Good,” Scully muttered, seeing Quinn asleep nearby. With great effort, he patted her hand. Heartfelt gratitude flowed through him. “We have all come through alive.”
“Yes, querido. Do you want something for the pain?”
He shook his head. “Don’t like opium. Getting easier.” He wasn’t lying really. With Alandra applying the poultice, his wound did get some ease. His eyelids were so heavy. He finally gave up and let them close.
Alandra watched Scully fall asleep as she continued drawing the infection out. When she had done all she could do for now, she got up, stretched, and walked outside.
Carson was watching over Dorritt, who was sleeping on a blanket under a nearby oak tree. Alandra walked over and sat down beside him. “I can’t believe it’s over. Shouldn’t we be shouting and celebrating?”
“We’re all just too plain tired for excitement, I guess.” Carson picked up a stick and began whittling.
“Scully’s wounds are some better.” A memory from the past, her brother suffering weakness for years and then dying from the effects of a gunshot wound, twisted inside her, hot and tight. She gripped the gnarled root of the oak, feeling the smooth old wood, which had refused to stay underground.
Carson rose, slipping his knife and stick into his pocket. “I’m going hunting, see if I can bring back something better to eat than sea biscuits.”
Alandra smiled, thinking of fresh meat, a sign that everyday life was returning. Regular meals. No sea biscuits—what a wonderful idea.
“Tell my parents when they wake up. I’ll find a few other hombres to come along.”
He turned to the little girl and told her to stay with Alandra. Sugar ran over to him and wrapped her arms around his legs. “Sugar, I promise. I’m just going hunting and I’ll be back soon. The war is over. You don’t have to worry.” Carson patted her back and then pried off her hands from around his legs.