Deep in the Heart

by Gilbert, Morris

  “Don’t get yourself shot,” Clay whispered.

  Brodie disappeared into the darkness. The rain was falling steadily now, and Clay could barely sit upright in the saddle. It had been a long day, and all his strength seemed to have drained away. He bowed his head, shut his eyes, and clung to the mane of the horse. You’re some kind of a baby, Clay Taliferro. Now set up there like a man.

  He waited until Brodie returned a few minutes later. “We’re in luck, Clay. I guess whoever lives there has run off. They must have been afraid the soldiers are comin’. Let’s get you inside. We can make a fire and fix you up. Make some good bandages. And they left a wagon here. We’ll hitch these horses to it, and I’ll pull you all the way home. I can fix you a bed and everything in the back.”

  “You’re right thoughtful, Brodie. You always was,” Clay whispered. It was all he could do to stay on the horse, but thirty minutes later he was lying before a fireplace on a bed made of rough quilts. The fire was crackling, and Brodie had found enough food to make a stew. He held Clay up, and Clay put a spoonful of it in his mouth. He looked up and tried to grin. “We’re going to make it, Brodie.”

  “Sure we are, Clay. You and me, we’ll get home fine.”

  The table was crowded, and as Jerusalem moved around putting plates of vegetables on the table, her eyes went over the group. Fergus was there, and Zane had come along. She sat down beside Moriah, Clinton, and Mary Aidan and waited until Rhys Morgan asked the blessing.

  No one spoke much, except Zane, who was doing most of the talking. “I heard Santa Anna broke up his army into different pieces. That’ll be good news for Sam Houston. At least now he won’t have to fight the whole bunch at once.”

  Fergus was wearing a fine white shirt and a gray flannel coat. He always dressed as if he were going to Buckingham Palace to dine with the queen, and now he nodded. “That’s a stupid sort of thing to do, but good for Houston. If this army we hear he’s collecting has a chance to win, it’ll have to be against a part of Santa Anna’s army.”

  “Well, the word is that he’s divided them into five divisions, and he’s given one division the order to burn every town and plantation in their way.”

  “I think he intends to start a panic to drive the colonists across the U.S. frontier,” Rhys said.

  “Well, he’d be pretty successful, the way our neighbors have been running for cover.” Zane looked over at Jerusalem and seemed to hesitate, then he said, “Maybe we ought to go too.”

  “I’m not leaving this place, Zane,” Jerusalem said quietly. Ever since the news had come of the Goliad massacre, she had been very quiet.

  The whole countryside had hummed with the grim news of the atrocity. And the effect of it had been exactly what Mateo had warned Santa Anna about. The fury of the Texans was ignited like a wildfire. As the news of the massacre spread across the entire country, the same fury and anger grew equally white hot. General Antonio López de Santa Anna had done the one thing he least suspected. He had unified the Texans by his merciless slaughter at the Alamo. Now with the massacre of innocent men at Goliad, the Texans and their friends and relatives in the United Sates reached a boiling point.

  Moriah looked at her mother. She had eaten very little, which was unusual. “I’m grieving over Pa.”

  The news of the Alamo had laid a pall on Clinton and Moriah. Both of them were usually noisy and talkative, but they had said almost nothing the last few days.

  Jerusalem reached out and put her hand on Moriah’s back. “Always think well of your pa, daughter. He died to help us.”

  “Everybody is saying some of the prisoners got away from Goliad,” Moriah said. Her face was pale, and she stared at her mother, her eyes pleading for hope. “Do you think Brodie will be all right?”

  “God can do anything,” Jerusalem said calmly.

  “That’s exactly right,” Rhys said. He was sitting next to Julie, who turned to watch him as he spoke. “I’ve been praying for their safety ever since we got the news.”

  Jerusalem looked up and said, “I asked God to bring Brodie and Clay back to us…and He told me that He would.”

  Everyone’s head swiveled to stare at Jerusalem. But it was the foreigner, Fergus Nightingale, who asked in an interested tone, “God really spoke to you? I wish He’d speak to me.”

  Jerusalem turned to face Fergus. “He spoke to me in a dream,” she said quietly.

  “A dream? What kind of a dream, Ma?” Clinton asked.

  “I dreamed that Brodie and Clay were in some kind of a forest or woods. They were trying to get across the river, but the river was too high because of rain. They were in a wagon, but the horses couldn’t get across. I was watching them, and I was crying, and I wanted to help them.” Jerusalem’s voice was soft, her eyes dreamy. “I was weeping with all my heart, and the Lord said to me, ‘Ask what you want.’ So I did.”

  “What did you ask, Ma?” Moriah asked, her eyes wide.

  “Why, I said, ‘Lord, I want you to get them across that river and bring them home safe.’ And then the dream seemed to grow fuzzy, but after a while I dreamed again, and I saw Brodie and Clay coming out of that river on the far side. They made it across the river.”

  “I don’t know much about the meaning of dreams, but I like that one,” Rhys said. “And I’m going to keep on believing.”

  Julie was watching Rhys, and he turned to face her. He reached over and took her hand and squeezed it. “You can believe too.”

  “God wouldn’t hear a sinner like me,” Julie said.

  “Don’t be foolish. God always hears sinners if they ask the right thing, and this would be a right thing.”

  Julie stared at him and then shook her head. “If we know what’s good for us, we’d better get out of here while we still can. Santa Anna’s coming.”

  “Might be best,” Zane said quickly.

  Jerusalem sat there looking at the others. She felt the same peace as she had the night in Red Wolf’s camp. There was no doubt at all in her that God had given her an assurance, and she said, “Anyone who wants to leave is free to go. There are horses, wagons, buggies, but I’m going to be here when Brodie and Clay come home.”

  A silence fell around the table, and no one got up to leave. Finally, Clinton nodded. “Well, it looks like we’ll all stay then.”

  “That’s right, Clinton,” Julie said, her eyes meeting those of Jerusalem. Her own faith was small, but she had great faith in this sister of hers. “We’ll all stay—no matter what happens.”

  For two days nothing happened, and late afternoon of the third day, Jerusalem was sitting on the bench Clay had made her. She had placed it out beside the three graves, and it became a place where she would go when she wanted solitude to think and pray. It reminded her of the place she had had back in Arkansas, which seemed a thousand years ago and a million miles away. As she sat there, twilight was closing about the place. The bats were beginning to flutter, when suddenly she heard a wagon coming, which was not unusual, for many had fled down this road to escape Santa Anna’s approaching army. She did not get up to look, but she sat there almost forgetful of it as she prayed for her son and for Clay. She was shocked when she heard a voice, “Ma!” Jumping to her feet, she saw Brodie leap out of the wagon and run toward her. “Brodie!” she cried and ran as fast as she could.

  Brodie caught her, lifted her clear off the ground, and squeezed her so tight she could not breathe or speak.

  “You’re home, son, you’re safe!”

  “We are, but Clay’s been shot. He’s in bad shape.”

  By this time the others had heard the wagon and had come running out of the house. Everyone was babbling at the same time, asking Brodie what had happened.

  Brodie shook his head. “I’ll talk later. Help me get Clay out of the wagon. He’s been shot, and he’s had a fever for three days. I thought he was dying this morning.”

  “He’s not going to die,” Jerusalem said. “Zane, you and Rhys take him and put him on the bed in my room. I�
�ll be right there.” Jerusalem watched as the men picked Clay up. When she saw him unconscious and helpless, her heart seemed to stop. He had always been so strong and so filled with the joy of living, and now his face was pale as paper.

  “What happened, son?” she asked.

  Brodie shook his head. “It was Mateo. He got us away when the Mexicans started to execute everyone that had surrended at Goliad. Tim and Clyde got killed, though. But me and Clay made it. He took a bullet as we were running away. I got this wagon and made a bed for him, but the rivers were up. We forded all of them except the Colorado. We just couldn’t get across.”

  The details of Jerusalem’s dream became very plain to her then.

  “Tell me all about it,” she said.

  “Well, Ma, I never saw nothin’ like it,” Brodie said. His face was filled with wonder. “I tried to get the horses across, but they just wouldn’t go. It was too risky. The strong current would have swept us down. So I didn’t know what to do. Clay was gettin’ sicker all the time. Finally it just seemed the right thing to do was to head South, and I did. And, Ma, we got to a place that was a cutoff, and I just knew that we were gonna get across. And we did. The river was broader there, and it wasn’t as deep as upstream. We just come right across, Ma. I drove across with no trouble.”

  Jerusalem’s eyes filled with tears, and she grabbed Brodie and hugged him. “It was the Lord doing a miracle.”

  “I reckon it was, Ma. But it’s gonna take another miracle to get Clay well.”

  “God’s not going to let him die. He wouldn’t do a thing like that.”

  When Clay woke up it was not all at once. He opened his eyes, started, and for a moment had trouble focusing. Then the features of the woman above him swam into focus, and he croaked in a voice not much like his own. “Well, hello, Jerusalem Ann.”

  “Clay, you’re better now.”

  Clay felt her hand on his forehead and saw the relief in her face.

  “Your fever is all gone. Your eyes are clear. How do you feel?”

  “Like I was dragged through a knothole and hit in the face with a wet squirrel.”

  “You’ve got to eat something to get your strength back.”

  “Reckon I could.”

  “You lie right here. Don’t go back to sleep. I’m going to bring you some food.”

  Clay lay on the bed and looked around after Jerusalem disappeared. He realized he was in her bed. Most of what had happened since the massacre at Goliad was blotted out of his memory. He could remember bits and pieces of Brodie talking to him and begging him not to die, and he remembered crossing a river. But after that, nothing.

  Jerusalem came back soon with a bowl of soup. She said, “You’re going to have to sit up. It may hurt.”

  To his astonishment Clay found he was too weak to do very much. Jerusalem simply reached down, pulled him up, and put pillows behind him. “Makes me feel like a baby,” he murmured.

  “You be quiet and eat.”

  Clay accepted the spoon and swallowed a spoonful of the soup. As he began to eat, he found he was as hungry as a bear coming out of hibernation in the spring. He ate all of the soup, and when Jerusalem gave him a glass of water, he held it with both hands and gulped it down. When he gave her the glass back, he said, “I’m right sorry about Jake, Jerusalem Ann.”

  Jerusalem sat down beside him, took his hand, and brushed a lock of hair away from his forehead. “He was a good man in some ways,” she said simply.

  Somehow the words sounded like a benediction or a eulogy to Clay.

  It was as if Jerusalem had closed the door on that part of her life. He looked at her for a long time in silence, then said, “For a time there, I didn’t think I was going to make it, but Brodie brought me back.” He smiled then and shook his head. “Ain’t that just like me, Jerusalem Ann?

  I go out to save somebody, and he has to pull me out of the fire.”

  Jerusalem put her hand on his chest, and leaning forward, she whispered, “Sleep, Clay. You’re worn out. You need your rest to get your strength back.”

  “Guess I am. Don’t reckon I’ll ever—”

  Clay did not finish his speech, and Jerusalem took his hand and held it to her cheek. She stayed there for a long time, watching his breathing, which was slow and even, and she saw the fresh color in his cheeks, which the food had brought. “Thank you, Lord, for bringing them both home.”

  Serena opened the door and gasped. “Brodie!” she screamed and then threw her arms around him. She cried out, “Mama, Brodie’s home!”

  Brodie was shocked by the embrace. He put his arms around her and squeezed her. Serena stepped back as Lucita came into the room, her eyes bright as she cried out Brodie’s name. The two hugged then, and Brodie said, “I reckon I could get used to this.”

  “You come and sit down and tell us everything,” Serena said. “But first I’m sorry about the way I acted, Brodie. I’m not going to marry old man Watkins.”

  “You sure would have saved me a passel of trouble if you had told me that,” Brodie said, but he was grinning. He sat down and ate the food they pressed upon him, and in between bites he told them the story of the battles. When he got to the part that Mateo played, he looked at them and said, “He saved me and Clay. Ain’t no other way to look at it. Me and Clay would be dead if it wasn’t for Mateo.”

  Lucita’s eyes filled with tears. “He’s a good boy. I’m sorry that you two are on different sides.”

  “Well, maybe that’ll change,” Brodie said, but he knew that it would not.

  Later on, when he had to leave and go back to see how Clay was, Serena followed him out to his horse. Before he got on, she said again, “I’m real sorry that I teased you, Brodie.”

  He put his arms around her and kissed her awkwardly.

  Serena submitted to his caress and then slapped him on the chest. “You’re not much at kissing, are you, Brodie Hardin?”

  Brodie suddenly grinned and felt very good indeed. “Well, I need more practice. I’ll be back to see about that.”

  Clay came into the kitchen just as the family was eating breakfast. Jerusalem was fixing his meal to take to him, as she had since he had returned, and she said, “You get back in bed! I’m going to hide your pants!”

  “No you’re not. I’m gonna stay up and keep my britches on.”

  Rhys suddenly laughed. “I think I’ll get myself shot, Clay, so I can be waited on like you.”

  Clay winked at the preacher and said, “I guess I’ve milked about all the sympathy I can out of this little scratch.” Still he was pale and shaky, and as he sat down, Jerusalem fussed over him and fixed his plate.

  “You’re going to be among the land of the living, I see,” Fergus said.

  “I didn’t think so for a while. Any news about the war?”

  “Well, Houston is running, and everybody is screaming bloody murder,” Zane said.

  “He’d better run,” Fergus said quickly. “He’s got an army, but it’s not trained—not to meet regulars.”

  “I’m going to go join up with them,” Clinton said abruptly.

  “You hush, Clinton,” Julie said. “We just got Clay and Brodie home.

  Now you behave yourself.”

  “Well, you might as well start on me, Julie. I’m leavin’ today to go join up with Houston.”

  Everyone turned to stare at Rhys, who had spoken these words quietly. They were all shocked. Nobody would have been surprised if Zane had said such a thing, but now Julie said quickly, “Why, Rhys?”

  “Well,” Rhys said slowly, “it comes down to this. I love Texas. I want to spend the rest of my life here.” He glanced at Julie and grinned. “I’m gonna find me a woman and have me a dozen kids. But I feel I’ve got to earn that right.”

  “I feel the same way,” Brodie said.

  Zane at once shook his head. “You stay out of it, Brodie. You nearly got killed already.”

  “I can’t do that, Zane. If I’m gonna make Texas my home, then I figure I be
tter be willin’ to fight for its freedom,” Brodie said.

  “You got a point there, son,” Fergus said as he looked across the table at Julie.

  The men continued to talk about the Alamo and what had happened at Goliad. Julie said nothing during the rest of the meal, but she couldn’t keep her eyes off Rhys as he talked. Afterwards she went outside to find Rhys, who had gone out to brush his horse. He turned to her and saw that she was serious “I don’t want you to go, Rhys,” she said.

  “Well, I think it’s something I have to do.” He could tell she was troubled, and reaching out, he took her hand. He suddenly lifted it to his lips and kissed it. He saw the surprise in her eyes and said, “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be all right.”

  “You can’t know that.”

  “Well, I’ll have to go anyway. There are times when a man has to do some things. To back away from them would be wrong.”

  “Please don’t go, Rhys!” she pleaded.

  At that moment Rhys saw again the woman that was hidden under the hard exterior of Julie Satterfield. She was a common enough woman in many ways, a sinner, and he well knew it. But God had opened his eyes and given him discernment. He took her hand again and said, “I see in you a good and wonderful woman. God is after you, Julie, and you’re going to meet face-to-face with Jesus one day. After that, all the beauty that’s on the inside of you that I see, everyone will be able to see on the outside.”

  Julie stared at him. She could not understand how anyone could see any good in her, for she had been rebellious all of her life. Somehow his words touched her deeply, and she reached up and put her arms around him and clung to him as if she were a small child. She felt a wave of innocence that she had not known for years, and finally, when she lifted her tear-stained face to him, she pulled his head down and kissed him on the lips briefly. Then she whispered, “Oh, Rhys, be careful—oh, be careful!”

  Jerusalem had seen Clay go out to her cemetery. He was sitting on her bench and had been there for the past hour. She knew he wanted to be alone, but finally curiosity got the better of her. She went out and sat down beside him. “What are you doing, Clay?”