by Judith Pella
“Even if it means following Somervell?” asked Wallace.
“I don’t like following that man,” Tom said, “but I don’t like a lost cause either.”
“Some would have said Texas back in ’36 was a lost cause.”
The debate continued for some time. But in the end the majority of rangers, including Tom, decided to follow Hays and return to Texas. Wallace, McBroome, and a handful of others would remain with Fisher.
“What about you, Micah?” Tom asked after most of the men had abandoned the sickly fire for their damp bedrolls, leaving only Tom, Micah, and Jed to siphon off the last bit of heat from the dying flames.
“I came to fight Mexicans,” Micah replied.
“Yeah. That still a burning desire of yours?”
“Of course it is.” But Micah sensed that his friend had probably guessed before even he realized it that his vendetta against his old enemies had dulled in the last weeks. Maybe Tom had also guessed that the reason for this was a certain half-Mexican gal, a gal Micah could not get out from under his skin even after such a firm Good-bye.
But the Mexicans were still the enemy, even if Micah was coming to see for the first time in years that the enmity he held did not have to extend to an entire people. Maybe he could actually accept that there were good Mexicans and bad Mexicans. Yet what good was such a conclusion now, now that he’d lost the whole reason for coming to it in the first place? It seemed all he had left were his old enmities. At least continuing with the invasion would give him some purpose and would keep his mind from plaguing thoughts of what he’d lost.
“I reckon I’ll go on with Fisher,” he said finally. “I been wanting to fight Mexicans for years, and it would be pure stupidity to give up the chance just for . . . for something that don’t exist anyway.”
“Then I guess we’ll be parting company in the morning,” Tom said.
“What about our probation?”
“Aw, that ain’t necessary no more. You proved yourself many times over. I’m sure Hays would agree.”
Micah grabbed a twig and tossed it on the last ember of the fire. Avoiding the sudden discomfort he felt at the prospect of parting from his friend, Micah turned to Jed, “What about you? You gonna stay or leave?”
“I’m doing whatever you do, Micah. We always stick together, don’t we?”
Micah scowled, not liking the sudden burden this seemed to place upon him. He didn’t like the uneasiness he felt even more. Maybe he should follow Jed’s lead and stick with his friend and mentor, Tom. Yet it was hard to let go of a passion that had driven him for so long, even if that passion seemed not to fit very well anymore.
Micah did not let himself nurse regrets in the disastrous days that followed. He’d made his decision, chosen his path. But it was a path paved with blood.
The first and only engagement of the Texan invasion force occurred near the Mexican town of Mier. Numbering only three hundred, the Texans managed to prevail, causing the blood of their enemies to practically flow in the streets of the town. The rampaging Texans looked too much like images from Micah’s nightmares. Yet this was what he wanted. This was what he’d sought. Wasn’t it?
When the fortunes of war turned against the Texans, Micah refused to philosophize about it. It began when Fisher was wounded, leaving a serious gap in command. Sick and unsure of himself, Fisher listened to rumors that Mexican reinforcements were on the way. Short on supplies, as usual, and barely maintaining order, he believed his army would not withstand another battle. He surrendered to the Mexicans after receiving a guarantee that his men would be treated as prisoners of war and kept near the northern border.
Instead they were marched inland to Monterrey. Micah and his comrades were tossed into a Mexican prison, where Micah would come to entertain new nightmares.
CHAPTER
24
TOM FIFE LOOKED AS OUT of place in the Maccallum parlor as another younger ranger had so many months ago. Tom twisted his battered hat in his hands as he sat on the edge of the upholstered divan. At least he’d bathed for this visit, his hair was slicked back, and his clothes were clean. He hadn’t groomed his beard, and the tangled mass, streaked with gray—salt and pepper, Lucie’s father would have called it—was bristly and made his face appear grimy despite his scrubbing.
But Lucie was less concerned with his appearance than she was with the news he bore. Micah had been captured in battle.
“But he is alive?” she asked hopefully.
“I believe so, miss. But—” he stopped, scraped a hand against his chin, then continued with resolve. “He is! I know it. I feel it here.”
He thumped himself, and Lucie could not tell if he’d intended to indicate his heart or his gut, maybe both.
“But it is not certain?”
“Miss, nothing’s ever certain in battle. Reports are confused and such. We just gotta hope.”
She nodded but could say no more.
“President Houston is trying to get to the bottom of the matter,” Tom added. “We’ll soon have a list of all the prisoners.”
“What will . . .” She tried to force the words out. She had said good-bye to Micah. They had both realized the futility of their relation.ship. Why, then, did she still feel as if she’d been kicked in the stomach? As if Micah had been something to her? She made herself speak. “What will become of the prisoners?”
“It’s hard to say. I imagine Houston will negotiate for their release.”
“I know about Mexican prisons.”
“Don’t think about that, miss.” He licked his lips and turned his hat. “I ain’t a churchgoing man, Miss Lucie. Why, I don’t even pray regular-like. But I do believe in God, and I believe He kind of has His eye out for us all down here. I figure He’s got His eye out for Micah, too, even if that boy tries to talk disrespectful ’bout God.”
Lucie could not repress a small sad smile at the tenderness in the man’s voice.
Tom went on. “I get the impression you have a strong faith, stronger than mine, for certain! Anyway, I think your prayers’ll be mighty powerful right now.”
“Thank you for reminding me, Mr. Fife.”
“He’s a good boy, Miss Lucie.” Tom’s lip trembled a bit beneath his whiskers. “He’s been like a son to me these past months.”
Lucie reached out and patted Tom’s rough, gnarled hand. “I am so happy he has a friend like you.”
“You been a good friend to him, too.”
She shook her head. “I’m afraid I have only caused him grief—”
“Don’t say that!” Tom laid his other hand on top of Lucie’s in a mutual gesture of comfort. “I think you saved him. If you hadn’t come visit him way back when he was in jail, I doubt he’d of ever listened to me. Miss Lucie, you have shown him that life can be good, real sweetlike, you know. Oh, he’s got a hard head and may fight it longer than is good for him, but I don’t think he’ll fight forever because he knows now, because of you, there is something better out there.”
“I pray that is true.” She looked down into her lap, a bit ashamed of her last meeting with Micah. “I am afraid we said good-bye to each other just before he left with the army. good-bye forever.”
“You young people got no idea about that word forever.” Tom’s whiskered lip twitched with amusement. “When you get old like me, you realize nothing’s forever. Things happen. Things change. They just have to be given a bit of time. Patience, ya know?”
“I was never much good with patience.”
“Most young folk aren’t. But take it from an old codger, you and Micah have plenty of time.” He gave her hand a final squeeze, then rose. “I best not be keeping you any longer, miss. Thank you for seeing me.”
“It was my pleasure, Mr. Fife, despite your awful news.” She made herself smile, imbuing the gesture with all the warmth she felt for Micah’s friend. “Come and visit anytime. Perhaps next time my father will feel up to receiving you.”
“That’d be nice. Now you take care,
and I’ll keep you informed about Micah.”
Lucie walked him to the door and watched him ride away. It was surprisingly hard to let the man go. He was a part of Micah, and she wanted to keep him there to talk more about him, to get him to tell her all he knew about the man. She expected they had spent many hours together as they ranged the countryside. They probably talked about many things. Oh, the things Tom Fife must know about Micah! The little things—what he liked to eat, his favorite color, his birthday. Goodness! Lucie thought dismally, she did not even know Micah’s birthday.
But with even more dismay, she wondered if she would ever learn those things. Even if it was true what Tom had said about nothing being forever, Micah was gone now. Would he return?
“Dear God, please protect him! Bring him back. Not just for me, but because I feel so certain you still have special things to do with Micah.”
Not relishing the idea of being alone just then, Lucie wandered into her father’s room. His eyes were closed as he lay in bed, so Lucie turned to leave, not wishing to disturb his sleep.
“That you, Lucie?” he called softly from his bed.
“I didn’t mean to wake you, Papa.”
“I can sleep anytime, sweetheart, and these days it seems to be all the time. Come sit with me.” He patted the edge of the bed.
There was a chair at Reid’s bedside, but Lucie sat on the bed itself, and needing only the further encouragement of her father’s outstretched arm, she bent down and hugged him. His arms went firmly around her, and he kissed the top of her head.
“What is it, Lucie? What’s wrong?” It took only those tenderly spoken words to bring Lucie’s emotion fully to the surface.
“Tom Fife, the ranger was here. . . .” She paused, interrupted by a sob. “The . . . the army that went into Mexico surrendered and was taken captive. There’s no word yet which men survived the battle.” Sobs and tears prevented her from saying more.
“There . . . there . . .” soothed Reid, patting her head.
He held her thus for several minutes, just cooing words of comfort and gently caressing her. How good it felt. How desperately she needed her papa! What would she do if she lost him on top of Micah? She would not be able to bear it.
“The last time I saw Micah,” she said at length, her words muffled because her face was still buried in her father’s chest, “I told him Good-bye, that I couldn’t see him again.”
“I’m sorry,” Reid said.
“Are you, Papa?”
She lifted her head just enough to see his face and see him sadly shake his head.
“I’m sorry it hurt you so,” he went on, his voice husky with the difficult truth. “But you know how I felt about the boy. It could not have worked.”
“Yes . . . I saw that, but . . . oh, Papa! Why does it still hurt so? Why do I still care?”
“You are a caring young woman. You don’t give your affections recklessly.” He paused for a long while, then added, “Lucie, don’t con.fuse caring with pity.”
“Is that all I felt? Pity?” She didn’t want to think so, yet maybe that was the answer. Maybe it hadn’t been love at all she’d felt. Maybe it wasn’t love now tearing her heart wide open.
“You mentioned that he was all alone,” Reid said. “He has no family?”
“His father is alive.”
“Is he . . . ?”
“They are estranged.”
Reid nodded grimly. He knew all about that kind of thing, of course.
“So I pitied Micah.” She let the words roll around in her mouth, as if trying them out. They didn’t ring true.
“It is possible.”
Her father wanted her to believe it as much as she wanted to. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze.
“All I want is for you to be happy, Lucie. When I die, which I fear will not be too far in the future, I want to know you will go on living a full and contented life.”
“I want you to have peace about these things, too, Papa.” She hated thinking about him being gone, but it was no use denying that possibility would be sooner rather than later. She could tell he needed to talk about it, and she had to admit she needed to prepare herself. “What can I do?” she asked plaintively. “How can I help you have peace? If I were safely married, you’d feel better, wouldn’t you?”
His slight hesitation told her more than his words. “Only if you were happy.”
“Yes . . . of course.”
“We can’t second-guess the future, my dear.” His pale lips curved into a gentle smile. “Only God knows what is best for either of us. So let’s just wait on Him.”
“That’s not always easy.”
“You know, Lucie, there is something you can do. Not so much for me, but for another father . . . Micah’s father. Perhaps you can write him about his son. If they are estranged, he probably knows nothing of his son’s plight. If I were in his position, I would want to know.”
She wondered only a moment at his sudden change in the direction of their conversation. Maybe he also didn’t want to think about the realities his illness was forcing upon them. They would both have to eventually, perhaps even soon, but she was happy he hadn’t pressed it just yet.
“That’s a good idea, Papa. I think I will go do that now, so it will be ready for Pete to post next time he goes to town.” She bent down and kissed her father’s forehead. “I feel so much better talking to you.” He probably knew as well as she that it wasn’t the entire truth, but it wasn’t a complete lie either. She did feel a bit better now that she had at least a small thing to do.
She went into her father’s study, took paper and pen, and composed a letter to Reverend Sinclair. She kept it simple, trying to convey her concern for Micah while toning it down at the same time. No need to open her full heart to this man, a stranger. Besides, for all she knew, the Reverend Sinclair might burn the letter the moment he saw it was regarding his son. Micah had indicated how he felt about his father, but he had never said much about how his father felt about him. The minister might have disowned his son to the point of complete animos.ity. He was a man of the cloth, and Micah had lived a wild and sinful life. Thus, such a reaction would not be surprising.
Lucie sealed the letter, addressed it to the town where Micah had mentioned his father lived, and took it to the kitchen. Juana was busy as usual. Lucie set the letter on the table, then took up a dish towel in order to help out by drying and putting away the breakfast dishes.
“Juana, if Pete comes by, would you let him know I have a letter to post next time he goes to town?”
“Sí, Lucie.” Juana paused in kneading bread dough and glanced over at the folded paper. “Who do you know in Cooksburg? That’s quite a ways north of here, isn’t it?”
“The letter is to Micah Sinclair’s father, informing him of what has happened.”
“Micah is the ranger who came calling a while back, isn’t he?” Juana picked up the dough, which was still a bit sticky, and sprinkled a handful of flour on the board. “What has happened to the boy?” There was real concern in her tone, though she had shown disapproval of Micah in the past.
“He was captured by the Mexicans.”
“That is too bad.”
Lucie carried a stack of dried crockery to a cupboard. “Do you truly think so?”
Juana looked hurt at the words. “I did not approve of him as a suitor for you, Lucie, but he seemed a good boy, and he was trying to defend Texas.”
“I’m sorry, Juana.” Lucie sighed. “It’s just that . . .” She picked up her papa’s coffee cup and absently began drying it. “I had a talk with Papa.
He won’t come right out and say it, but I know he wants me to marry soon. He says he wants me happy, but I don’t think I can have both.”
“Because the young ranger is in a Mexican prison?”
“Even if he weren’t in prison, I don’t think we could have a future together.” As she set down the cup and picked up another, she saw a flicker of relief in Juana’s eyes. It made a
n anger flare within Lucie that she did not realize was in her. “Well, maybe you have a better marriage choice for me!” she snapped. “You keep nagging me about getting married. Perhaps you would have me choose Grant Carlton.”
“Him!” Juana snorted derisively. “I can’t believe I once thought him a suitable match. But after what he and the other ranchers did . . .” She pounded a fist into her dough, leaving no doubt as to what she thought of the actions of those men.
“Then that eliminates half the men in the county and their sons as possible suitors,” Lucie said.
“It doesn’t mean you have to settle for that wild ranger.”
“Settle . . .” Lucie shook her head. She knew that was definitely not the case with Micah. But how could she explain what she felt, when she was not even certain herself? How could she get Juana and her father to see Micah through her eyes, eyes that saw to the heart of the man? But it didn’t matter if she could. No matter what was in Micah’s heart, there were still too many marks against both of them for a match to succeed.
“There is Levi Jessup’s son,” Juana was saying. “What’s his name? No matter. He is your age, and the Jessups did not turn against your father.”
Lucie didn’t want to point out that Darnel Jessup was six inches shorter than she and weighed a good hundred and fifty pounds more. She didn’t want to believe she was that concerned with physical appearances, but she’d tried having a conversation with Darnel once. He could neither read nor write and could only talk about cows and crops.
She looked askance at the housekeeper, then said snidely, “Why don’t you just line up all the prospects, and I’ll go, ‘eenie, meenie, miney, moe,’ and choose one. If I don’t marry for love, it really doesn’t matter.”
“Don’t get smart with me, miss!” Juana’s tone was as hurt as it was miffed. “I may be only the housekeeper, but I love you just the same and want only the best for you.”
Knowing full well she deserved the rebuke, Lucie wrung the dish towel in her hands. “I’m sorry, Juana.” Abandoning her task, Lucie plopped down in a chair by the table where Juana worked. “I’m just so confused and afraid.”