by Judith Pella
She waited three days until Maurry’s confidence in her obedience was assured before carrying out her plan. After her last customer had left and all the girls had retired for the night, Liz, too, went to her bed, but she was far from sleep. She debated in her mind one facet of her scheme she still wasn’t certain about. Should she take Hannah or not? If she left Hannah behind, then Maurry would know she hadn’t intended on running away permanently. And indeed, she wasn’t yet ready to run away for good. Hannah was too sick and would never survive. First Liz had to get her daughter well, thus her present plot. She would steal money and go to San Felipe to purchase medicine for Hannah. She knew where Maurry kept his money box hidden away. He was so cocky in his authority over his slaves that he did not fear theft and made only a small show of hiding the box.
When all was quiet in the house, she crept from her bed and put on her dress, boots, and coat, wishing she had a more practical dress to wear rather than the fancy dresses from New Orleans. When ready, she crossed the packed earth floor and stepped into the dog run. A cool breeze blew through the open corridor. The intent of the corridor was to keep the cabin cool during the miserably hot Texas summers. Now in spring, the cool air was unwelcome. It reminded Liz that the five-mile trek at night to San Felipe would not be easy. She dare not steal a horse, because Maurry valued his horses over even his money. She would have to walk to town in her threadbare coat and ill-fitting shoes, and she would have to walk quickly. If she was lucky, she could get to town, do her business as soon as the stores opened, and return home before Maurry missed her. Maurry usually did not bother the girls until the early afternoon. If her luck truly did hold and her prayers were answered, he might not even miss the two dollars she stole from him.
As Liz neared town about an hour and a half later, she began to think this was not going to be as great a risk as earlier feared. The hard part would be waiting until daylight for the store to open. She slipped into the livery stable, found a warm corner in a stall, and fell asleep.
CHAPTER
23
BENJAMIN TOOK A DETOUR FROM his circuit on that chilly day in March. He had about half his circuit finished, but he’d heard of a meeting in San Felipe he wanted to attend. He excused the extra time away from his family in the necessity of purchasing supplies.
Benjamin received a less than subsistence salary from the mission board, which expected his local flock to supply most of his needs. His family lived at a poverty level, despite the fact that the members of his circuit did indeed support him with food and supplies as opposed to money. One had given him a much needed second cow, another a bag of rare wheat, another woman had made him a quilt, and someone had even given them a rocking chair. He was seldom ever paid for his services in money, because the settlers themselves had little ready cash. However, on this recent circuit an offering was taken, and he was given five dollars.
So when Benjamin returned home at the end of the month a few days late, he knew he would be exonerated when he produced a load of items from the store, which would include a length of calico for Rebekah.
Several men had already arrived in the store, the only available gathering place, when Benjamin got there. Benjamin dreamed of one day building a church structure in Cooksburg, but he knew that dream was far from fulfillment. Even San Felipe had no church buildings of any kind.
Three of the men present Benjamin recognized from his circuit, one being John Hunter, who had become the only friend Benjamin had acquired in the area. He did not know the others but was disappointed so few had come. He had hoped to be taking part in a major political rally, one that would eventually make definite strides toward independence from Mexico. He had gathered from his parishioners that there were two opposing groups in Texas regarding the best method to use to gain independence—the “war party” and the “peace party.” The peace party was more dominant, likely because it had enjoyed Austin’s support over the years, but rumor had it that his months in a Mexican prison had swayed Austin more toward the war inclination.
“Morning, Reverend.” Hunter welcomed Benjamin with a friendly smile.
The others Benjamin knew merely nodded and grunted vaguely in welcome. One was Amos Hawke, who had never developed a warm attitude toward Benjamin since being taken to task regarding his “marriage.” The other, William Meade, had no cause against Benjamin that he knew of, but he was stiff nonetheless.
“Am I early?” Benjamin strode into the group.
“This may be it.” John wrinkled his face and shrugged. “Seems most folks don’t think a formal meeting will be much use until Austin returns.”
“Who knows when that will be?” Benjamin said. “We can’t sit on our haunches until then.”
A man introduced as George said, “We ain’t sitting around. I was with Bill Travis last month when a bunch of us drove off the customs inspector at the Anahauc garrison.”
Among other grievances, the Texians were disgruntled over the levying by Mexico of what they considered unjust taxes that seemed to be aimed most seditiously at Texians who imported a large percentage of their goods from the United States.
“Precious good that did,” Amos Hawke growled. “Travis was condemned by most of the Texians themselves for what he done. The leaders of the peace party even made a declaration of loyalty to Mexico and sent apologies to the Commandante General Cós.”
“Only shows the strength of the peace party.”
“Things’ll change when Austin comes,” Hunter said.
“One thing’s certain,” Meade offered sagely, “little will happen until then. Other conventions last year failed because folks don’t want to act without him.”
Benjamin realized he had wasted precious time for nothing. In coming he had hoped to finally meet some of the Texian leaders he’d heard so much about. Austin, for one, but also Sam Houston, Travis, and Jim Bowie. These were the men, not a group of farmers, who would push Texas toward independence. But of the leaders, only Travis was a radical war party proponent. Even Houston, it seemed, was leaning ever more toward a peaceful coexistence with Mexico.
For himself, Benjamin was a staunch supporter of independence, whether it be by war or peace. If it was to be war, he had already decided to participate. For him it was a holy war, the very purification of the denizens of evil. True, the longer he was in Texas the more he saw that the Catholic Church wasn’t the pernicious evil he had feared when he first came. On paper, of course, Catholicism was indeed the only sanctioned religion in Texas, but in reality, most of the alcades turned a blind eye toward Protestant work in their regions. Benjamin had not been molested once and had even had a fairly civil encounter with a priest.
Yet the Protestant faith was still outlawed, and thus its growth would be stunted until it could operate freely. Because of the law against Protestantism, most Texians had grown complacent about any religion, practicing neither the Catholicism they professed on paper nor the faith of their birth. The Sabbath had become like any other day to them. With no churches to attend, they usually drove their cattle, cleaned their barns, or simply sat on their porches whittling. Benjamin was determined that should change.
The conversation of the men in the store turned from politics to the weather, then to farming and such. Disgusted with the failure of the political meeting and with the attitudes in general, Benjamin took his New Testament from his pocket and opened it.
“I believe it would be fitting before we part this place,” he said, “that we call upon the blessing of the Lord God.”
“Now, Reverend?” Meade asked.
“It ain’t even Sunday,” Hawke added.
“That convinces me more than ever of the need.” Benjamin turned some pages in the Bible. “Hear the Word of the Lord! ‘Jesus saith unto her, Woman, believe me, the hour cometh, when ye shall neither in this mountain nor yet at Jerusalem worship the Father . . . But the hour cometh, and now is, when the true worshippers shall worship the Father in spirit and in truth: for the Father seeketh such to worship him. God is a Spi
rit: and they that worship him must worship him in spirit and in truth.’ ” Benjamin snapped shut his book. “Please bow your heads.” The men, glancing around rather skittishly at one another, finally complied. Benjamin prayed. “O God, our Father, we come to you as sinners, unworthy to call upon your holy name, unworthy to even touch the hem of your garment. Yet we are helpless without you, without your guidance. This land of Texas is coming to a crossroads in its destiny, and I pray no man here will embark upon that road without you going before him. We implore you to be the standard bearer of Texian independence, for you know this land cannot stand unless it is planted firmly in the Christian faith. As you did in ancient Israel, wipe the enemy of faith from the land. . . .” Upon hearing voices at the front of the store, Benjamin paused. However, never one to cut short the worship of God because of the needs of man, he was ready to dig in for one of his more lengthy prayers. “Father, purify the hearts of these men. . . .” The voices grew louder and began to capture the attention of his small congregation.
“There you are, you little vixen!” a male voice shouted.
“Maurry, don’t . . . ow!” The cries of a distressed female could be plainly heard.
The attention of Benjamin’s listeners was definitely lost as they began to shuffle and murmur.
“Hey, now, unhand that woman.” That was the storekeeper’s voice.
“Don’t you tell me what to do!”
“Reverend,” John Hunter said quietly, “I think you better end your prayer. Looks to be some trouble.”
“Dear God,” Benjamin added quickly, “whatever is now afoot, let your wisdom prevail. Amen.” He looked up and was shocked at what he saw.
At the front of the store was the woman from the ship, the one whose child Rebekah had helped against his wishes. The one he’d heard was a soiled dove. He had never seen the man who now gripped her arm and was tugging harshly at her.
The storekeeper was saying, “I don’t want no trouble in my store.”
“Then keep outta my business,” retorted the man.
John said to Benjamin, “Reverend Sinclair, what should we do?”
In the meantime, the woman had broken free of the man’s grip and leaped out of his immediate reach. But when the man took an ominous step toward her, she lunged toward the nearest thing she could find for protection—a pitchfork. This she grabbed with both hands and made a stab in the air with it that forced her pursuer to step back. Benjamin thought he’d never seen a more fierce look on the face of a woman. It was more awesome than frightening though, and staunchly resolute. She was prepared to do battle. Fleetingly Benjamin thought of Joan of Arc.
“I just want to buy medicine, Maurry,” retorted the woman in a voice shaking more with anger than fear.
Benjamin recalled his wife had said she was named Liz.
“Nothing wrong with that,” the storekeeper said.
“Except the money she’s using is stolen.”
“That true?” the storekeeper asked.
“Please.” Liz looked imploringly at the storekeeper, then glanced around the room as if to beg support from the other customers. “It’s for my baby. She’s gotta have medicine.”
“She’s a thief!” Maurry accused.
“Please!” she cried again, tears now welling in her eyes, and the fierce Joan of Arc began to crumble in desperation. Then those eyes once more swept the room, finally resting on Benjamin. She obviously recognized him from the ship. “You know I’m telling the truth,” she said to him. “You know I have a sick child. Tell them.”
“That was some time ago,” Benjamin said. Then, as if he felt an explanation was necessary, he said to the room in general, “She was on the RaeAnn with me.” To Maurry he added, “Is her child still sick?”
Though he had never met Maurice Thomson, he had a feeling this man was the boss, owner, or employer of the woman.
Maurry shrugged. “Kids are always sick.”
“What’ll I do, Reverend?” the storekeeper asked.
There was no real law in the town. Until Austin was arrested, he had presided over much of the criminal actions. Most judicial functions were carried out by the Mexican government, which in fact was another grievance of the Texians. They did not want to have court actions deliberated in faraway Saltillo, which was now the practice. At any rate, Benjamin did not wish to be placed in this delicate position. Unlike a judicial official, he also had to consider the spiritual implications of the problem at hand. He wondered if any of the men present realized what kind of woman this was who was begging for help. If they did, they certainly would not admit to it. But he knew, and to exonerate her might well be the same as blessing her chosen life. Nevertheless, if an innocent child was sick, did it deserve to be punished along with the sinful mother? He thought of the Scripture that spoke about the sins of the fathers being visited upon the children to the third and forth generation.
But Maurry Thomson wasn’t about to wait for any judicial deliberations, however amateur.
“Gimme my money back, girl,” he sneered. “I’m losing patience.” He lunged for the pitchfork, but the woman made a thrust that caught the sleeve of his shirt with one of the sharp tines. He jerked his arm back in shock. “She’s gonna kill me!”
“Did you steal this man’s money?” Benjamin asked as Maurry rubbed his arm, looking as if it had been torn off rather than merely scratched.
“I only took two dollars”—she bit her trembling lip—“for medicine.”
“She was going to buy this.” The storekeeper pushed forward some items on the counter. “Camphor, eucalyptus oil, hartshorn, and some mustard. Looks like medicines to me. She was about to pay me one dollar and fifty cents for it all.”
“Did you steal the money?” Benjamin persisted.
“Yes, but . . .”
“It is wrong to steal, regardless of the reason.”
For an instant, her eyes narrowed, losing all pleading. Hitching up her shoulders, she once more became Joan of Arc. Benjamin momentarily feared she would direct her pitchfork at him, but he held his ground, not flinching, not taking his eyes from her. He knew when right was on his side.
“Give the money back,” he ordered.
“My daughter will die.”
“The end does not justify the means. It benefits no one to live because of sin. Return the money, and you will not be prosecuted for your crime. Then trust God to provide for your needs.”
She quite literally spit in his face. “Don’t speak of God to me! You are no Christian!” She lowered one hand from the pitchfork, reached into her pocket, took out the money, and threw it at Thomson. This done, she continued to hold the pitchfork a moment longer, then she lowered it.
“Now, you better get on home,” Maurry said, “or you’ll really be in trouble.”
She leaned the fork against a wall, then swung around and strode to the door.
Wiping his face with his handkerchief, Benjamin noted the extraordinary pride in her step. Part of him wanted to inform her that pride goes before a fall, but another part surged with admiration. He shook away this wayward notion as she exited the store.
Turning to the storekeeper, he said, “Wrap up those items.” He then removed his wallet and withdrew one dollar and fifty cents. With the package in hand, he headed to the door. Liz was already outside.
“Miss,” he called, “hold up there.”
She slowed but did not turn. It galled him that he had to hurry to catch up with her and that he practically had to insist on getting her attention. He thrust out the package.
“What’s that?” She did not look at him, and her voice was rough.
“The medicine. I told you God would provide.”
“Oh, so you are a good Christian after all?” She let the sarcasm slide from her voice like ice off a roof in winter.
“I could not with a clear conscience condone your actions.”
“But it’s all right now that you’ve taught me a lesson?”
“Have I taught you
a lesson?”
Her lip curled as if she would hurl some insult, then she just shook her head. “I’m taking this only for my baby.” She snatched the package from his hand.
“I am giving it only for the child,” he replied pointedly. “I do not condone who you are or what you do.”
“You know nothing about who I am or what I do.”
She strode away, still with a step that made Benjamin gape in wonder. Who was she indeed? She was certainly like no woman he had ever seen before. Part waif, as innocent and tender as the child she cared for, but certainly part temptress as well, a she-devil in the guise of an angel.
CHAPTER
24
REBEKAH LIFTED THE EDGE OF the rawhide window covering. A draft of cold air struck her face, and she fastened down the cover once more. She must accept the dreary darkness of the cabin over the chilly spring morning. Sucking in a ragged breath, she turned back toward the room, wondering how she would face another day.
Leah was crying in her cradle, but Rebekah ignored the child and went to the hearth and tossed in another log. She would have to cook breakfast, not that she had any appetite, but the children needed to eat.
“Micah, get the pail and fetch water.” The boy was playing with his tomahawk, swinging it in the way his uncle had taught him the Indians used. “I don’t like you using that thing indoors, son.”
“But it’s cold outside, Ma.”
“I know. But someone could get hurt.”
Micah put down the tomahawk and headed toward the water pail. He was a good boy. Too bad his father refused to see it. Too bad Micah hardly had a father.
With a bitter sigh, Rebekah began to mix cornmeal and water to make bread. Corn and a few sweet potatoes were all they had to eat with the wild turkey and venison Benjamin had jerked. It was a sign of how bad things were when sweet potatoes became a delicacy. Benjamin earned less than fifty dollars a year, in addition to occasional gifts from his parishioners. But even if he still earned the princely two hundred dollars a year he had in Boston, it would not have mattered. Supplies were simply hard to come by here. Benjamin told her things would be better after she planted a garden in the spring. It was spring now, but she had no idea where she’d find the energy to plant a garden.