American Blood

by Jason Manning

  Delgado bit his tongue, stifling a retort born of wounded pride. In spite of the anguish he suffered over the condition of his father, Jeremy could still think of Delgado's best interests. He was, thought Delgado, a true friend. A strong bond had been forged between the two of them since that summer day when they'd departed St. Louis together, bound for adventure at the other end of the Santa Fe Trail.

  "I can't stay," said Delgado. "I just can't, Jeremy. Sarah has occupied my dreams, my thoughts, my every waking moment for nearly six months. Six long months! I must see her. I can't come this close and stop."

  Jeremy drew a long breath. "To care so much for someone can be a dangerous thing. Love can make fools out of wise men."

  "Perhaps you have never loved anyone as I love your sister. If you had, you'd understand why I must go on."

  Jeremy turned away, but not before Delgado saw the pain twist his features. "Don't be too sure of that. Well, if you must, come on. Let's get going."

  Delgado clasped Falconer's hand in his own. "I'll be back to visit in a day or two."

  "You're welcome under our roof anytime, Del."

  They reached St. Louis as the sun dipped below the horizon, and twilight gave the snow on the streets a blue translucence. After many weeks in the barren, wintry wastes of the high plains, where the only sounds were the howling of wolves above the moaning wind, the noises of civilization were to Delgado very welcome indeed. The barking of dogs, the sound of laughter from one of the houses they passed by, the rattle and clatter of a carriage, the clang of a blacksmith's hammer, the faint, merry tinkle of piano keys, the distant clamor of ship's bells and steam whistles along the waterfront—it was all music to his ears.

  When, finally, they arrived at the stately manor at the corner of Laurel and the Rue St. Eglise, Delgado's heart was beating like a trip-hammer in his chest. Sudden, bloodcurdling fear seized him. For six months he had dreamt of this moment—and now that it was here he could scarcely refrain from turning tail. Jeremy saw the look on his face and had to laugh.

  "What's come over you, Del? Got cold feet all of a sudden?"

  "No. No, of course not."

  Still, he couldn't help but worry. What if something had happened to change Sarah's mind about him? He couldn't imagine what that something might be, and yet . . . The problem was that he did not think he could face life without Sarah Bledsoe. He needed her as he needed breath itself and, try as he might, he knew he would not feel secure until she was his bride. Only then would he know for certain that life would be worth living.

  Steeling himself, he dismounted and followed Jeremy to the front door.

  When they entered the house, Clarisse was just turning the corner into the hall, leaving the gallery, having come down the stairs carrying a tray—Delgado surmised that this had been Jacob Bledsoe's evening meal, and it didn't look like it had been touched. The Creole Negress stopped dead in her tracks and stared, and for the first time Delgado realized in horror that he must look a sight. He hadn't bathed or shaved in weeks. In his rush to see Sarah again he hadn't given his appearance a thought. What a fool he was! He should have at least lingered long enough at Falconer's cabin to make himself presentable.

  "Clarisse!" Jeremy stepped forward, smiling.

  She put the tray down on a taboret and went to him, giving him a maternal peck on the cheek as they embraced.

  "How is Father doing?"

  "He is in his room. Go on up, Jeremy. It will do him good to see you again."

  "Clarisse? Is someone here?"

  Delgado's heart skipped a beat, for this was Sarah's voice, coming from the gallery staircase.

  "Your brother is home at last, child," called Clarisse. Then she smiled at Delgado. "And there is someone else you will want to see, I think."

  He heard her racing down the stairs. Jeremy met her at the end of the hall, and she gasped at the sight of him and flowed into his arms.

  "Jeremy!" she cried out in delight. "Jeremy, I'm so glad—!"

  She saw Delgado then, and Jeremy, grinning, let her go and stepped away and said. "Wasn't easy, Sis, but thanks to Hugh Falconer we've managed to bring your man back safe and sound."

  Sarah stood there a moment, gazing at Delgado. She was, he thought, the most beautiful woman in the whole world, with her big hazel eyes and ruby lips in a heart-shaped face framed by chestnut brown curls, her slender figure complemented by a pale yellow muslin dress.

  "Del?"

  "Sarah." His voice was a hoarse travesty of its usual self.

  "Oh, Del!" She ran to him, and he wrapped her in his arms, and she kissed him with all the love and passion in her soul. Tasting the salt of her tears of happiness, Delgado knew at that moment that all was well. His doubts fled. The world was a wonderful place, and life would be worth living after all.

  "It seems as though you've been gone forever," she said, breathlessly happy. "I missed you every minute you were away."

  "And I missed you, Sarah. More than I can say. I'll never leave you again."

  "You'd better not!" She turned to her brother while clinging possessively to Delgado's arm. "Promise you won't tell Father how I greeted my future husband, Jeremy. He'd think I was a shameless hussy."

  "Don't worry. I wouldn't dream of telling him." Jeremy went up the stairs, eager to see his father.

  "Del, you're so thin!" exclaimed Sarah. "Can we fatten him up, Clarisse? Not too much, of course."

  "I think we can manage that, child." Clarisse headed for the kitchen.

  As soon as Jeremy and Clarisse had gone and they were alone, Delgado took Sarah by the shoulders and held her at arm's length and looked her in the eyes and said, "Sarah, you called me your future husband. I guess that means you'll marry me?"

  "Don't be silly. Of course I'm going to marry you. I knew we would be man and wife the moment we first met."

  "You did? I think I did, too. As for setting a date, I suppose we'll have to suffer through a proper—that is to say, long—engagement."

  "It had better not be too long, Mr. McKinn," she said and, curling her arms around his neck, gave him another heart-stopping kiss. When it was over, she slid him a look that Salome might have envied. "We're going to have lots and lots of children, Del, so we had better get started soon."

  "Sarah!"

  "Oh, did you think you were marrying a prim and proper young lady, sir?"

  He laughed. "No—and thank God I'm not!"

  "Come along. I'll heat some water for your bath. You smell like . . . like the Santa Fe Trail in all its pungent glory. And I'll get you a nice sharp razor. You must look your best when you go in to ask my father for his little girl's hand in marriage."

  2

  Having his son safely home again put some life into Jacob Bledsoe. He insisted on being moved downstairs, complaining that the walls of his bedroom, where he had been incarcerated for weeks, were beginning to close in on him. Sarah didn't think it was a good idea; the doctor had recommended that his patient remain in bed, warning that activity would only aggravate his condition. Jacob waved her protests away. "Just humor a dying man's few simple requests."

  "Don't say such things, Father."

  "Why shouldn't I? I'm reconciled to my own mortality, and you should be, too, my dear."

  Delgado and Jeremy carried him downstairs and placed him in his favorite chair in the front parlor, over near the fireplace, where a warm, cheerful blaze popped and crackled. Delgado was astonished by Bledsoe's appearance; the man had been hearty and robust six months ago, and now he was pale, haggard, and much thinner. His eyes were bloodshot, with dark rings around them. Sarah had told Delgado that her father suffered from fever, weakness, loss of appetite, and a persistent cough that grew progressively worse. She knew there would be no improvement. All they could do was make him as comfortable as possible and wait for the end. Delgado felt sorry for his beloved Sarah. How difficult it had to be, to watch someone you love die by inches before your very eyes, and all the while your job was to present a sunny dispositi
on in hopes of keeping the patient's spirits up. Delgado was glad, both for his mother's sake and for his father's that Angus McKinn had died suddenly. Better that, by far, than this.

  "I relish a bit of brandy," said Bledsoe.

  "Father, you know the doctor said you could not indulge in strong spirits," said Sarah.

  "To blazes with what the doctor said!" Bledsoe wheezed and hacked sputum into a handkerchief.

  "Allow me, sir," said Delgado. With an apologetic glance at Sarah, he moved to the sideboard and poured Bledsoe a dollop of brandy. Sarah didn't approve, but she kept silent.

  "Thank you, my boy. Thank you." Bledsoe accepted the glass gratefully, sipped, and closed his eyes in ecstasy. "The sad news of your personal tragedy has preceded you, Del. Angus was more than a business associate to me. He was my true friend, and I mourn his passing."

  "Thank you, sir."

  "I understand the leader of those murderous rebels was caught and hanged. A man by the name of . . . of . . . oh, what was that blasted man's name?"

  "Archuleta. Diego Archuleta."

  "Yes, yes. Archuleta. That's the one. I'll warrant you were glad to see him pay for his crimes."

  "But they called him a traitor, and I don't think treason was one of his crimes. He was just fighting for what he believed in. And rebellion is, after all, very American."

  "Well, at least the killing has stopped," said Bledsoe. "And you and my son are safe. What of Hugh Falconer?"

  "He is well. He saved my life on more than one occasion."

  "Extraordinary man. Extraordinary."

  Delgado related how he and Falconer had been the only two to have escaped Turley's Mill alive. Jacob Bledsoe was visibly impressed by the courage Delgado had displayed by riding to warn the Americans, even though Delgado played down his role in the affair. Sarah, on the other hand, appeared shaken by the realization of how close she had come to losing the man of her dreams.

  "Don't worry, Sarah," said Delgado, trying to lighten the mood. "I don't intend to get caught in the middle of any more insurrections."

  "I hope this damnable war is over soon," growled Bledsoe with a sidelong glance at his son, Jeremy. "Unfortunately, we've invaded Mexico. Generals Taylor and Wool are moving south from the Rio Grande, and General Scott will soon strike westward for Mexico City from either Tampico or Vera Cruz." He shook his head dolefully. "It is a mistake to press the issue. A ghastly mistake, I tell you. We have California now, and that is what President Polk really wanted all along. Who knows how much more American blood will be spilled. And to what end? Should we take the better part of Mexico proper, we shall never be able to hold on to it. The North would never let that happen."

  He began to cough again, his whole body racked with the violence of the seizure. Clarisse materialized with a cup of hot honey tea and bade him drink. The tea seemed to help.

  Delgado glanced at Sarah. She nodded, and Delgado, trying to dislodge the lump in his throat, stepped forward.

  "Mr. Bledsoe, there is something of great importance I want to discuss with you."

  "Oh?" Bledsoe also glanced at Sarah. "I wonder what that might be?"

  "I have asked your daughter to marry me, and she has made me the happiest man in the world by consenting to do so. I . . . we . . . would like to have your blessing."

  "My blessing. Not my permission? If you had waited a few weeks, I would be in my grave, and you wouldn't have to worry about my blessing."

  "Father!" exclaimed Sarah. "What a horrible thing to say!"

  Bledsoe relented. "My apologies to you both. Of course you have my blessing. I am a sick and crabby old man, so please make allowances. You see, I am very afraid. Afraid of dying." He stared pensively into the fire. "But to know that my daughter's happiness—not to mention her security—is assured is a great comfort to me." He looked up at Delgado and smiled. "Do you intend to live here in St. Louis?"

  "I'm not sure, sir. Whatever Sarah wishes to do."

  Bledsoe nodded. "Perhaps in keeping a home and raising a family my daughter will discover that she has little or no time to pursue her crusades—abolitionism and all those other troublesome notions."

  "Don't count on that, Father," said Sarah.

  "Naturally, I leave my business to Jeremy, although he is not in the least interested. However, my daughter's dowry is nothing to sneeze at, I can promise you. Oh, I realize you are a quite well-to-do young man, Del, and you will have no difficulty in maintaining Sarah in the style to which she is accustomed, but you understand that a father feels a duty to do what he can to secure his daughter's future."

  "Yes, sir."

  Bledsoe sipped at his tea. "There is one other matter. Well, two, actually." He looked at Clarisse. "I want Clarisse to stay with Sarah. But I suppose I should manumit her, and leave that decision up to her, as well."

  "Oh, Father, that would be wonderful," said Sarah, delighted. She went to Clarisse and gave her a hug. "You'll be free, Clarisse. I have long prayed for this moment."

  Delgado thought Clarisse was taking her emancipation rather somberly.

  "You're more than welcome to stay with us, naturally," he told her. "But the choice is yours. Perhaps you have something else in mind." He was thinking of the man, Stephen Maitland, at the St. Louis Enquirer.

  "This child," said Clarisse, referring to Sarah, "is like a daughter to me. I had my own flesh-and-blood girl once. She die of the yellow fever down New Orleans way. Then I come here, and watch Sarah grow up into a fine young woman, and I think sometime I would have wanted my own daughter to be just like Sarah, had she lived."

  "I love you so, Clarisse," said Sarah and kissed the Creole Negress on the cheek.

  "I go where you go, child."

  "That's settled, then," said Bledsoe. "Last but not least, Del, there is the matter of Brent Horan."

  Jeremy shot out of his chair. "I hope for his sake he has not insulted my sister again during my absence," he snapped, truculent.

  "Calm down, Jeremy. Calm down. He has done nothing of the kind. Nothing at all. If the truth be known, Brent has had his hands full with other things. Daniel Horan passed away a few weeks after you two boys left for Santa Fe."

  "Passed away?" scoffed Jeremy. "Murdered, you mean, by slow poison."

  "There is no evidence of that," said Bledsoe sternly. "In fact, whatever the mysterious ailment was that finally took Daniel, it must be congenital, for now it seems that his son suffers the same affliction."

  "What?" Jeremy was incredulous.

  Bledsoe nodded. "Brent Horan is dying by inches."

  "But why," asked Delgado, "especially if he is dying, is Brent Horan a matter of concern to me?"

  "Sarah didn't tell you?"

  "Tell me what?"

  "The day after you and Jeremy left, a Mr. William Darcy called. He said he was representing Brent Horan in an affair of honor. Darcy is a notorious character. A riverboat gambler by trade, and a duelist of some note, besides. He had come to make arrangements for a duel. It is to be done on Bloody Island."

  Delgado shook his head. "That was six months ago. Surely Horan's temper has had ample time to cool."

  "Brent was very much in love with my daughter before she went away to the academy. In fact, that was one of the reasons I sent her away. She was sixteen then, and much too immature to marry, in my opinion."

  "Marry?" echoed Delgado. He looked querulously at Sarah.

  "He was a handsome, dashing cavalier," she said. "Or so I thought of him that way. Perhaps I'd read too much Walter Scott. I was foolish, and flattered by his attentions. It was just a childish infatuation on my part, Del. I didn't know the kind of man he was."

  "I should hope not." Delgado remembered that day on the levee when he had watched Brent Horan in the process of purchasing the pretty octoroon—what had she been called? He couldn't recollect her name. But she had obviously been destined to become the object of Horan's pleasure.

  "Please don't be upset with me, Del."

  "I'm not. Believe me, Sara
h, I'm not. It's just that I had hoped, by now, that this business with Horan would be water under the bridge."

  "It may very well be," said Bledsoe. "But I think we should resolve this right away. Put it behind us, once and for all."

  Delgado stared at him. He had a pretty good idea what Jacob Bledsoe meant. "Right away" means before I marry his daughter. He doesn't want Sarah to become a widow.

  "Then maybe I should pay Brent Horan a visit," he said, knowing that was what Jacob Bledsoe wanted to hear.

  Bledsoe nodded, pleased.

  "I'll go to Blackwood with you," said Jeremy.

  "That's not a good idea," said Bledsoe.

  "No, it isn't," agreed Delgado. He put a hand on the scowling Jeremy's shoulder. "The idea is to make peace."

  "You can't mend fences with a man like Brent Horan."

  "You can't. Perhaps I can. I'm certainly willing to try."

  "There is a risk," said Sarah. "He could have forgotten what happened before, but seeing you might make him remember. He might challenge you."

  "I doubt that he's forgotten, because you were involved, and you're not easy to forget, Sarah. No, I'll go." He turned to Jacob Bledsoe. "I will send my card to Blackwood tomorrow and await his earliest convenience."

  3

  Early the next morning, Delgado went to the livery where he had purchased the four-stockinged bay the night he'd left St. Louis, the horse who had carried him down the Santa Fe Trail only to die—valiantly, he liked to think—running a gauntlet of insurgents in ambush at the Arroyo Hondo. He hired the owner's son, a twelve-year-old boy, to deliver his card to Blackwood, promising the eager lad a dollar when he brought Horan's answer back to the Bledsoe house. Delgado had written At Your Earliest Convenience on the back of the card. That was all. He was sure it would be enough.

  The eternal optimist, he hoped that Brent Horan's ardor to see him dead would have cooled in six months' time. If not, so be it. Delgado had no intention of fighting a duel, and nothing would make him change his mind. No matter how hard Horan hated him, the man still considered himself a gentleman. He would not dream of shooting Delgado down in cold blood. So there was no harm in taking Jacob Bledsoe's suggestion and going to Blackwood, while there was a chance the whole matter might actually be amicably resolved. It was the least Delgado could do for Bledsoe; Sarah's father deserved a little peace of mind.