Texas Angel, 2-in-1

by Judith Pella

  Benjamin leaned against the counter and accepted a cup of water from the clerk. “I suppose Austin is trying to hedge his bets.”

  “Well, there’s a long row to hoe yet before we get our independence and mighty big odds to beat.”

  “David against Goliath,” remarked Benjamin.

  “That’s right.”

  “My son may be in the midst of it all if he has his way.” Benjamin drained the cup, wiping a sleeve across his damp lips. “You are sure he didn’t stop in here for supplies?”

  “It’s been a fair piece since I’ve see the boy, Reverend. Can’t say as I’d recognize him.”

  Yes, Micah had sprouted considerably since first coming to Texas. “I guess he looks a lot like me. Tall for his age and rangy in size. Light hair like mine only with considerable more red in it. His eyes are blue, like mine . . .”

  Benjamin let his words trail away, for they had begun to get choked in his throat. How alike he and his son were. It was both sad and ironic. They could have had so much together as father and son. But now, it seemed, they had nothing. All Benjamin’s efforts to repair his past mistakes had been to no avail. He had lost his son, and not just upon the trail.

  “Sorry, Reverend. All I can say is if he’s bent on joining the action, he’d probably go to Gonzales.”

  “Thanks. I’ll head that way myself.”

  Wearily, Benjamin headed west toward Gonzales. If there was an army being formed, he had no doubt that’s where Micah would have gone.

  He wondered, not for the first time in the days since leaving home, what good it would do to find Micah. The boy hadn’t listened to him since he’d stopped beating him. As this occurred to Benjamin, he realized for the first time that he had indeed stopped whipping Micah, though he hadn’t consciously done so. He hadn’t taken him behind the barn for a couple of months, not because Micah hadn’t deserved it on many occasions, but rather because Benjamin had simply lost the heart for it. The beatings hadn’t done any good. The cessation of them had done no good either.

  Benjamin felt completely helpless to keep his son in line and feared this present search would in the end prove futile. If he found the boy, nothing short of knocking him unconscious and binding him would probably get him to come home. Once home, nothing short of imprisonment would keep him there. Nevertheless, Benjamin felt he had to try.

  Perhaps there was more to it than that. As he’d told Elise, this quest might largely be for the purpose of deciding his own future, not his son’s. And again his thoughts turned to Elise.

  Still, he had no clear concept of what to do. He fleetingly considered forgetting about Micah, who was bound to follow his own mind anyway, and setting out for South Carolina. He would find Kendell Hearne and force him to sign an annulment. It seemed a simple, straightforward matter. But something told Benjamin that it would be far from simple confronting the man who had once loved Elise and then cast her off to a life of the vilest shame. Benjamin had already killed or been a party to killing two men who had harmed Elise. What would he do if he came face-to-face with the man who had started the path of anguish for the woman Benjamin loved? Just thinking about the man made him tremble with rage.

  What kind of monster must this man be to have allowed his wife and child to be sold into degradation and dishonor? He deserved death! Yet shouldn’t Benjamin feel a small kinship with this man? Hadn’t Elise deceived him also? Perhaps Benjamin could understand a bit of Hearne’s pain and anger.

  No. There could and should be no forbearance for what that man had done. Yet wasn’t Benjamin considering doing the very same thing— turning Elise and her child out to a fairly certain fate?

  But she deceived me! he silently cried.

  Even as his heart swelled with hurt and anger, he was confronted with another reason for not going to find Hearne. What if Kendell Hearne had repented of his actions and desired his wife and child to be restored to him?

  That thought sent paroxysms far different than fury coursing through Benjamin. What he felt now was fear—true, staggering fear. But he had to face that possibility whether he went to the Hearne plantation or not.

  How could a man be so torn? Wanting her desperately, yet at the same time filled with such pain and anger he wanted to push her away. Desire warred against revulsion. Pardon against condemnation.

  More than three hundred Texians had marched to Gonzales and were calling themselves “The Army of the People.” Benjamin arrived in time to see the army forming ranks under the command of Austin, who himself had arrived two days before and had wrestled the ragtag force into a semblance of order.

  They were planning to march within the hour on San Antonio, the locale of the most formidable Mexican presence in Texas. At the fore of their ranks was the banner emblazoned with the defiant words COME AND TAKE IT. Benjamin learned this was the very flag used in the Battle of Gonzales several days before. Despite his own inner conflicts, Benjamin was stirred by the sight. And he thought it quite apropos that the very cannon from Gonzales was being pulled by two yokes of Texas Longhorn steers.

  In the mayhem of an army about to march, Benjamin despaired of finding his son, especially since the ranks seemed to be swelling by the minute as new recruits arrived. He saw Haden first, and only then realized he might have done better to have looked for his brother all along. Micah was mounted on the chestnut gelding right beside his uncle.

  It took some courage for Benjamin to ride up to the pair. He prepared himself to eat whatever pride he had left.

  “Haden,” he called loud enough to be heard over the din of voices, the stomping of horses, and the rattle of arms. He had to call again before he was heard.

  Haden turned in his saddle. “Benjamin!”

  Benjamin maneuvered his mount close. “You look surprised to see me.” He glanced briefly at Micah.

  “Well, I—”

  “Are you taking a fourteen-year-old boy into battle, Haden?” Benjamin could not help his deprecatory tone.

  “No one’s taking me!” retorted Micah. “I’m going on my own.” He directed defiant eyes at Benjamin, echoing the battle cry of the army, “Come and take it!”

  “There wasn’t much I could do to stop him,” Haden said reasonably enough.

  One look at Micah proved the truth of Haden’s words. Benjamin used the only argument he could think of. “You are too young for this, Micah. Why, you are worrying Elise half to death. You know she cares about you.” As do I, but he could not say the words.

  “You’re gonna have to drag me back,” Micah challenged.

  Benjamin took off his hat and wearily combed his fingers through his damp hair. Finally, drawing upon all the humility he’d learned in the last months since Rebekah’s death, he turned to Haden. “Haden, can’t you reason with him?”

  “I tried, Ben, I honestly did. But look around.” He swept a hand toward the ranks of the army. “There’s plenty of boys here. Texas needs anyone who can shoot, and Micah can shoot, better’n me if the truth were told. Let the boy go, Ben. I’ll look out for him, I promise.”

  Like you looked out for Rebekah, Benjamin thought, eyeing his brother critically.

  Haden must have understood that look and what lay behind it for he replied, “I know I’m not the most responsible man around, but I swear I love this boy as if he were my own. I’ll protect him with my life. I would have done the same for Rebekah, but I could not intercede in the very workings of nature.”

  Benjamin’s jaw tightened, and his breath caught in his chest. Suddenly he let the breath out and relaxed his jaw. Though a small part of him still wanted to blame Haden for Rebekah’s death, he reminded himself he had come beyond such accusations. He also knew mere men could indeed only do so much to protect those they loved. It was wrong to ask more.

  “I know . . .” Benjamin said softly. “I know, Haden.”

  He thought sadly how he’d lost his brother as he’d lost his son, and he could do nothing about it. A man can change his ways, but that doesn’t always
mean past damage can be repaired. Sometimes the wreckage must stand as a reminder to do better in the future.

  “So I can stay?” Micah asked. Did he not yet realize Benjamin had no control over him? Or was this his small way of binding up some of the damage?

  “Yes, but . . .” Benjamin glanced at Micah. How he wanted to embrace him, but their horses, not to mention miles of fear, separated them. “Take care of yourself.”

  In that moment, Colonel Austin issued the command to march. Benjamin stood still as the sea of horses and men surged forward. He had to take a tight grip on his reins, as the mare seemed to want to join the march.

  “Not now, girl. We have other battles to fight.”

  He stood there until the entire army passed him by. “Dear God, please protect my boy. I may have lost him, but your eye will always be on him, and you will never lose him.”

  Benjamin reined his mount around and headed back to San Felipe. He had no idea what he would do once there. On the way he encountered many riders going to San Antonio to join Austin. Maybe he should join the fighting after all. Elise might be weak, but she could no doubt handle the children alone. At the moment, fighting in a war seemed preferable to going home and humbling himself once again.

  Dear God, how much humbling can a man take?

  He camped a day’s easy ride from San Felipe. He built a fire, made coffee, then with cup in hand he stared into the dancing flames of the campfire. All he could think of was the cold expanse of life apart from Elise, the void he would feel bereft of her sweet inner beauty, her dear wisdom, her tender heart. Those had been the very things that had helped guide him back to God. Without her he might still be mired in the depths of his self-abnegation, his shame, his misery. She had said he gave her back her life, but she had done the same for him.

  Perhaps that’s what made it so hard to forgive her now for her lies, because they threatened to tear down what he had so painfully achieved.

  “Howdy, stranger!” came a voice from beyond the brush.

  “Hello,” Benjamin called in reply. He didn’t relish the thought of company, but one could hardly be unneighborly in the wilderness.

  A horse came into view, led by the visitor. In the growing twilight he could only vaguely make out the appearance of the man, but he seemed harmless enough.

  “Saw the fire and smelled that coffee, and, well, I figured fightin’ could wait another day,” said the rider. “Mind some company?”

  “No, you are welcome, of course.”

  The man hobbled his horse, then came forward and hunkered down in front of the fire. It was then, as the flame flared in response to Benjamin laying on another chunk of wood, that he saw clearly the face of his guest.

  “Mr. Fife! Is that you?” Benjamin exclaimed.

  The man blinked as his eyes adjusted to the flickering light of the fire. “Well, it sure is. And you might be—? Why, if it ain’t Reverend Sinclair!”

  “And they say Texas is a big land,” Benjamin said wryly to the man who had guided him and his family to Natchez nearly two years ago.

  “Seems a rather small world now, doesn’t it?” Benjamin refilled his cup and handed it to Fife. “I’m afraid I have only one cup.”

  “That’s kind of you, Reverend, but I have a cup.” Fife opened his saddlebag, which he had carried from his horse, and removed a tin cup.

  Benjamin filled the cup as he spoke. “Looks like you made it to Texas after all.”

  “Well, I got to thinking more and more about this place after leaving you and your family,” Fife replied, pausing only for occasional sips from his cup. “When I got back to my place, it just seemed so old and so familiar. I came there looking for adventure, but all the adventure was gone. Why, I had neighbors less than two miles from me! I felt ready to see what else was out there. And now I get here and find not only a new land but a war as well.”

  “Yes, that is most unfortunate.”

  “After a fashion I suppose it is, but I’m a mite ashamed to say it is exciting, too.”

  “You on your way to Gonzales to join Austin?”

  “Thought I might see if they could use my help.”

  He smiled, revealing yellow, rotting teeth. Benjamin wondered how his children could have become so fond of this man. But they had no doubt seen what Benjamin had been too stupid to see back then. There was a gentle spirit behind the grime.

  “How about you, Reverend? You going to fight?”

  “No, actually I’ve just been to Gonzales. I’m on my way back home.” He didn’t know why he added what he did, perhaps it was because he knew the man had been fond of Micah. “I was trying to make my son give up his notion of fighting. He ran off and joined Austin.”

  “Your boy?” Fife’s bushy eyebrows arched. “Why, he’s just a kid.”

  “Fourteen. But he’s shot up several inches since you last saw him. He’s nearly as tall as me.”

  “Ya don’t say!” Fife helped himself to more coffee. “Well, I reckon when they get that old, there ain’t much you can do with ’em.”

  Benjamin remembered how he and Fife had locked horns so many times on the trail. Benjamin had preached at the man, berated him, condemned him to hell, and had firmly forbidden his children to speak to him. The memory seemed to open up a floodgate of more unwanted memories—of a man who was all but a stranger now. Hard, arrogant, unyielding, unforgiving.

  A man he never wanted to become again. Yet since Elise had made her confession to him, he could feel the hard shell that had once imprisoned him begin to clamp back into place. He could feel that arrogant pride take him captive once again. He inhaled a strangled breath.

  “You all right, Reverend?” Fife’s voice penetrated Benjamin’s muddled senses.

  Benjamin lifted his eyes to the man before him, a man he had wronged as he had wronged so many others in his life.

  “Mr. Fife, you’ve reminded me of a debt that is long past due—”

  “You mean the money?” Fife cut in. “I told you—”

  “Not the money.” Pausing, Benjamin started to lift his cup to his dry lips but, finding it empty, forced himself to continue without the benefit of a distraction. “I treated you abominably when we were traveling. You saved my life and the life of my family—” When Fife opened his mouth to protest, Benjamin raised his hand to stop him. “It’s true. Had you not come along when our guide stranded us at that river, I would have been pigheaded and arrogant enough to forge ahead alone, and that would have surely been death to my family.”

  “You are being too hard on yourself, Reverend.”

  “Not hard enough. At any rate, you did not deserve my judgments and my derision, but that’s all I gave you. And for that, Mr. Fife, I am sorry. I’d ask your forgiveness, but I suppose you’d have to forgive me a good many times to make up for the way I treated you. So I will just say with all sincerity, I am sorry.”

  Fife gave a self-deprecating wave of his hand. “You are making too big a thing of it. I mean, compared to a refined man like you, a true man of God, I am crude and all. No one would blame you. Fact is, you was probably being mighty accepting as folks go.”

  Benjamin shook his head. “You did not deserve my poor treatment. My children saw what I did not, that you are a good man at heart. I am ashamed of what I did and do not deserve your forgiveness.”

  “Well, I’d be a small man indeed, if I couldn’t forgive you, Reverend . . .” he paused and smiled. “Even if I thought it necessary. Don’t the Bible say to forgive seven times seventy? I figure you got a few more on account at that rate.”

  Benjamin smiled also. He thought it was probably the first smile Fife had ever seen from him. “Thank you, Mr. Fife. I can’t deny you are right about the Bible. You are—” Then it hit him as if he’d been struck by the book in question itself. “Mr. Fife, you are very, very right!”

  “I am?” The thatch of Fife’s brows rose again, obviously nonplussed at having a minister be enlightened by him on spiritual matters.

  That
night Benjamin stretched out to sleep, staring up at the night canopy of stars. He thought about the fool he had been and all he’d lost because of it. Much of those losses were gone forever, but he did not have to add Elise to that lot. All he had to do was forgive her. And he would— again and again and again. If a man like Fife could forgive him, how much more could Benjamin forgive the woman he loved? He only hoped she would forgive him for having even considered to do otherwise.

  What would happen after that, he did not know. If her first marriage proved to be still valid, then he might have to give her up after all. The thought of losing her stabbed his heart.

  Then he remembered something else. Elise had once told him something Isabel said to her on their wedding day, when Elise had assured Isabel that she didn’t want to take the child’s mother’s place.

  Isabel had said, “I think she would have chosen you.”

  Benjamin had thought it a sweet sentiment when he first heard it. Now he thought of the Scripture, “Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings thou hast perfected praise.”

  Long ago Rebekah had given Elise her New Testament. She’d not an inkling then of the part Elise would one day have in her husband’s life and in the lives of their children. Yet Benjamin now knew God had even then been preparing the way—and what better person to use to accomplish His purpose than the one whose place Elise was destined to take? It was just the kind of thing God would do in His infinite knowledge and wisdom.

  Finally the weight was lifted, and Benjamin could breathe the words he had been fighting for days. “Thy will be done, O Lord.”

  CHAPTER

  57

  ELISE HAD LEFT THE CABIN door open to let in what breeze there might be on that unseasonably warm day. She was going to take the children down to the creek when she finished the breakfast dishes.

  Her hands steeped in soapy water, she tensed when she heard the approaching hoofbeats. It could be Indians. It could be thieves.

  It could be Benjamin.

  But he had been gone only a day, and she didn’t expect him back this soon. She should have been glad at the prospect of his return, but fear dominated her feelings at the moment. Had he found Micah so quickly? Had he so soon decided the fate of their lives? A sinking sensation in her stomach told her that if it were so, it could not be a favorable decision. He’d been taut, confused, even angry when he left, and she could not believe he had changed so quickly.