by Martha Hix
Alejandra backed away from Reece to stand by Erasmo. Shoulders squared, she announced, “I can explain what happened. This is my friend, Erasmo de Guzman. He is a Federalist, as I am. We do not mean you harm.”
Erasmo nodded, lowering the musket. “We must cease fighting amongst ourselves. I know you are Federalists, men, since I overheard you speaking with my friends at that place you abducted them, and be it known, our quarrel is with Santa Anna.”
Felix pointed a shaking finger at Reece. “He is Santanista.”
“No, he isn’t,” Erasmo supplied smoothly.
Reece interjected, “Right, I am not. But why do you defend me, de Guzman?”
“I owe you a favor, if not my life. You sent the French to save me from Santanista clutches. This morning I came upon your camp, as these men accosted you. I followed to repay my debt. I will help you escape Mexico.”
Reece found himself wary of such friendship, but argue it, he didn’t, especially when Erasmo said to Alejandra, “I have worried over your fate, amiga. It pained me knowing you fled the capital with soldiers at your heel.”
“You are a dear and true friend, ’Rasmo.”
Erasmo molded an arch glance at Felix. “Remember that, fellow Federalist. It is I who leads the pack. I am Erasmo de Guzman of Vera Cruz.”
Respect lit the angry Mexicano’s eyes. “Holy Mother, you are de Guzman?”
“One and the same.” Erasmo tried to appear humble.
His efforts fizzled with Reece. Something about this unexpected appearance had the sour fetor of week-old fish.
“Where is Mercedes?” de Guzman asked Alejandra.
“Gone on to Vera Cruz.”
With a beat, de Guzman asked, “With her new doctor man?”
Alejandra bowed her head, and a strange, almost mad, expression set the arch Federalist’s face. Reece didn’t know why he distrusted de Guzman. It might be because of that night on the beach fronting Casa Montgomery, but Reece doubted it. This fellow had been bent on avenging Alejandra’s honor, which wasn’t a bad thing to do. And the Lord knows de Guzman had suffered for his principles . . . Maybe I’m being too judgmental where he’s concerned, Reece told himself.
Besides, in the greater scope of things, de Guzman’s appearance had been more than precipitous. Reece must cease counting the teeth of gift horses. “Where do we go from here?”
“A ship north from Vera Cruz,” de Guzman replied evenly.
“We lack horses.”
“Can we buy more?” Alejandra asked Cisario.
The old man nodded. “There is a rancher not far from my home. He has many good mounts to sell.”
“If you think I travel with the bastard that caused all my suffering,” said Felix, “you all have another thing coming. I will not ride alongside Colonel Montgomery.”
Reece observed the speaker, then turned his eyes to Garth. Emotions were roiling in his brother’s angular face. He would not put his brother on the spot. “We’ll split up. Garth, contact the French when you reach Vera Cruz—they should still be there. Admiral Baudin will sail you home. Take Felix and his sister with you. And Cisario and—”
“I’m not leaving,” the old man put in forcefully. “Here is my home.”
“Garth, it will be you, Felix, Bianca, Pancho—you do want to go, don’t you, Pancho?”
“Sí.”
“Are you forgetting something?” de Guzman asked. “We have but four horses amongst us. Four horses and seven riders.”
“We have money,” Reece answered. “Cisario will purchase more mounts.”
Alejandra’s friend of long standing bent his head toward Cisario, but his question was addressed to her. “How do we know he’s to be trusted with money?”
She lifted her chin. “Cisario is trustworthy.”
And so it was that Reece’s brother, the sibling he had sought for almost four years, departed the mountain overlooking Perote. Garth left with his friends—Felix, Bianca, Pancho. It pained Reece, saying goodbye when he and his brother had barely said hello, but he had to be practical. They were at least a day from Vera Cruz, and forestalling trouble was the best course.
The moon had climbed up the eastern horizon, resting low on it. They sat on the ground outside Cisario’s humble domicile, awaiting his return with the purchased horses. Reece, Alejandra, and Erasmo shared a pot of beans provided by Bianca, who had left with the others hours ago.
Before they had departed, the atmosphere was strained thanks to Felix’s resentment toward Reece. Yet she’d had the chance to converse with Garth, and she liked him, though his over-thin appearance had shocked her. She got the impression he had a lot of inner problems to heal. The only light that had brightened his blue eyes had come when he mentioned Becky McNeely. Reece had not told him Becky was dead, and Alejandra understood his reasoning. Garth had enough trouble right now without adding grief to it.
She glanced at Reece; he ate quietly, not adding to the conversation, and she sensed his brooding had to do with Garth and the bad news to relay.
Erasmo put his plate aside. “I have something to tell you. I didn’t want to mention it in front of the others. My journey from the capital has not been without insight. I came upon compatriots yesterday. They tell me an honor guard of three has left the estate of Manga de Clavo.”
“So what?” interjected Reece.
“Do I need to tell you, those who were close to El Presidente, that the cortege carries the remains of his leg?”
Reece shrugged, and repeated, “So what?”
“If you are El Presidente’s opponent as you profess to be, mi amigo norteamericano, you would see the gain in this. Alejandra has told me about his plans, and how he banks on the rites to glorify his name. If the casket is thrown to the wind, Santa Anna would not be able to have his elaborate funeral. That would drive him completely mad. And the country would not have to wait to depose him . . .”
She ought not to be fascinated by this concept, yet she was. What with Santa Anna’s despondency over the Pastry War treaty, he was more vulnerable than ever to waving his true colors. Though she pitied him, Alejandra saw no reason to leave the nation’s fate to a drug-crazed despot.
“I have heard the casket is crystal,” Erasmo said. “Paid for out of Treasury coffers, as are all Santa Anna’s extravangances. While our people suffer in poverty.”
“He gave his limb in battle.” Reece frowned. “Why shouldn’t he be entitled to a government-provided casket?”
Alejandra wasn’t swayed by such opinion. She thought about the abject poverty of Mexico and the conditions that turned good men to bad. Such as the bandit Enrique.
Erasmo leaned forward. “If the casket is stolen, Santa Anna will go mad. His advisers will be forced to recognize it, then they will demand his impeachment. Such unrest would clear the way for a Federalist to take his place.”
“What a crock of dung,” Reece said, putting it mildly and getting to his feet.
His eyes settling on Alejandra, Erasmo pleaded, “Do you agree with this assessment, amiga?”
She refused to glance at Reece, but she could feel the searing heat of his gaze upon her. He wanted her to side with him. Yet she could not, with any conscience, do that.
Erasmo glanced at Reece, then at Alejandra. “I need your help.”
“Get your Federalist comrades to help you, de Guzman, and leave me and Alejandra out of it.”
“But you are here, and you I trust. More than that, I would not have anyone else sharing in the glory.”
She wasn’t after glory, but she owed Erasmo so much. For all the years he had been devoted friend to both her and Miguel. For the years he had helped her through her widow’s grief. How could she turn her back on him? And could she turn her back on herself? “I see merit in your suggestions, ’Rasmo.”
Reece thrust his tin plate to the ground. “You are crazy. Both of you are crazy.”
“Querido,” she said softly, “I know the idea sounds bizarre, but I think it could work. Losi
ng his sainted leg for the second time would topple Santa Anna.”
Erasmo spoke. “It won’t take long to steal the casket, a couple of hours at the most. And then we can go on to Mer—go on to Texas.”
“No!” Then, patiently, Reece pointed out to Alejandra, “Sweetheart, we are less than a day from Vera Cruz. Less than twenty-four hours, once we get horses, from freedom. Forget Santa Anna. We have the future, and that’s all that should matter.”
He was right, of course. “But it wouldn’t take more than a couple of hours.”
“I’ll have no part of it, and you won’t either, Alejandra,” Reece said with a grate. “It’s ghoulish.”
“I could leave Mexico with peace of mind. For Mexico, for myself, for Miguel . . .”
Reece’s face tightened. “Your husband wouldn’t have wanted you chasing trouble. He would want you safe and happy. Just as I do. If you fall in with this witless scheme, I’ll know that . . .” He took a step toward her. “Don’t do it, Alejandra. Don’t do it. ”
Vexed at his demand, she shot back, “That is the way it is. You’ve found your brother, so let’s just sail merrily away to Texas. And we’ll never, ever”—she threw her hands wide—“give one tiny, bitty thought to what I worked so hard to accomplish.”
“Not a bad suggestion,” Reece answered sourly.
The night took a sudden chill. She stood and walked away from Reece and Erasmo, stopping to rest her forehead against the shed. For all the love she and Reece had shared, for all the problems they had settled along the way, he didn’t understand her.
She must settle her mind. Or make it appear as if she had. Reece would just have to understand. Just have to!
Returning to a scowling Reece and a pensive Erasmo, she said to her friend, “I won’t go with you. If you steal the casket, you do it alone.”
Reece muttered a “thank God,” but Erasmo covered a scowl.
A sound turned her head. A figure appeared on the hilly, moonlit horizon. Cisario had returned with a trio of horses. Good, sturdy mounts capable of taking them to a rendezvous in Vera Cruz with all haste.
“Let’s round up and get going,” Reece said tersely.
Erasmo yawned. “I think we should get a few hours of sleep before leaving. We missed siesta, we’ve had an arduous day. We should leave rested.”
“I agree,” Alejandra said.
Determination in each syllable, Reece demanded, “I say we leave now.”
But her pleas coerced him into backing down.
Leading the three into his house, Cisario spread the pallets. Each took a separate one. Alejandra closed her eyes to pray. Please let my decision be the right one. As soon as she heard Reece’s soft snores, she stole out of her bedroll. After penning a note to Reece, asking his understanding and promising to meet him in Vera Cruz, she nudged Erasmo’s shoulder.
His neck cramped, Reece awoke. Cisario snored in a corner of the house, but that was the only sound. Reece scanned the room. Where the hell was Alejandra? Where the hell was she!
“Erasmo. She’s left with Erasmo. Damn her to hell,” he yelled, hoping he was wrong and jumping up and out of the door. He was not wrong.
Two horses were missing.
Reece jerked back his head and screamed to the heavens. Damn her! She, who spouted principles. She, who demanded strict behavior of others. With no thought to him, without a care for her own fate, Alejandra bent ethics to her own priorities.
To hell with her.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
The sun rose over the highway leading to Mexico City. Any moment now the cortege would approach this stretch of road. The morning was warm, yet Alejandra shivered as she and Erasmo hid behind a boulder and waited for the honor guard. Had Reece found her note yet? she wondered. How would he react?
By the Lady of Guadalupe, what was the matter with her? It wasn’t as if she had abandoned Reece and their future. This was but a slight change in their plans. He would have to understand.
Stealing the casket wouldn’t take too long. Surely she and Erasmo would be on their way to the port city in no time. The plan was to divert the pallbearers. There were only three of them. She intended to flag them down, using the woman-in-distress ploy. Erasmo, with her help, would overpower them. Her accomplice didn’t see any need in killing the soldiers. Tying them up would be good enough.
Yet Erasmo had a cache of loaded pistols at the ready, back with the hidden horses. The more she thought about it, though, the less enchanted Alejandra became with the scheme. Someone might get killed. And was it worth it, a death to bring Santa Anna to his knees?
Whose death would it be? It might be hers, perhaps Erasmo’s, maybe the pallbearers. Additional thought brought cognizance: their plan was ludicrous, just as Reece had warned. She should have given it more thought before she had ridden away from her beloved.
Reece. Her impetuous decision to go on with Erasmo would have him furious, she decided, though she had known this for hours but hadn’t accepted it. Recalling their past disagreements, she knew Reece wouldn’t get over his brooding fury in a short length of time. And that was all they had, a short length of time! He would meet Garth and the rest tonight, and they would sail on to Texas. Probably without Alejandra!
Terrorized by the thought, she trembled.
Erasmo’s cackling turned her head. Gone was his calm of yesterday. “What is the matter with you?” she asked.
“Such a perfect, perfect plan. I will save Mexico, and then Mercedes will take me to husband.”
An eerie feeling crept up Alejandra’s spine. She stood and looked down at Erasmo. Spittle seeped from the corner of his mouth as he patted the gun shoved behind his belt. Why, he was mad. As mad as a rabid dog!
“Amigo,” she said patiently, “Mercedes plans to marry another. You must reconcile—”
“She married once before, yet she spread her legs for me!” Glassy-eyed, Erasmo scoffed and lumbered to stand. “She will be mine again, as soon as we steal that leg and I become a hero to our country. And to Mercedes.”
“I—I don’t think it’s such a good idea, your plan.” She stepped backward, but there was no place to flee. Boulders surrounded her back and sides, and they were only a few feet away; Erasmo hindered a forward escape. “My s-sister would be more impressed if you would just—”
“¡Silencio!” He lunged forward, his meaty hand grasping her blouse and ripping the sleeve. “You are wrong, Alejandra Sierra. Mercedes will be very impressed with my scheme. Her head is turned by great deeds, is it not?”
Mother in heaven, she didn’t know how to handle a madman. If only she could get that gun away from him, maybe she could scare him into reason. Or at least frighten him enough where she could get away !
“I’m hungry, ’Rasmo. And I think I saw a rabbit a moment ago. Loan me your gun, and I will shoot it for our breakfast.”
“I’m not hungry. I want to talk about Mercedes.”
“Think clearly, ’Rasmo. Great deeds don’t charm my sister. She wants nothing more than a man’s devotion.” Edward’s devotion.
Erasmo’s mouth further slackened. “Oh. That’s right. You are the one impressed by great deeds and noble character.” He stumbled in a half circle, yet Alejandra’s path continued to be blocked. “It’s all mixing up in my mind.” His eyes rolled. “Yes, yes, it’s all clear now. Just like Tio Humberto told me. He laughed at me,” Erasmo admitted, crying now. “He jeered my causes and ridiculed my mixed blood.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Believe me, it is true! He told me Mercedes would never have a mestizo. And that you—” a hand tried to clutch Alejandra; she deflected his grasp “—wanted me away from the palace. But he paid for his roguery.” Erasmo curled back his lips. “I strangled him.”
“My God, no!” Tears coursed down her face, but she couldn’t pause to mourn her dear uncle, not with a killer having her cornered. Fright skittered through Alejandra. Since Erasmo had murdered the friend who had given him shelter as we
ll as political aid, what would he do to her once he realized she wouldn’t go on with his macabre scheme?
Erasmo shook a finger at her. “You chose your Tejano over our cause, Alejandra. Why? Why! You are a traitor. No, no. I will not allow that to happen. You and I will steal the casket. You will prove you are a good Mexicana. I will be lauded all over the world as the greatest of Federalists! Mercedes will be proud. ”
He sounded like the madman Santa Anna! She shivered again. Was she mad, too? For years she had blamed Santa Anna for everything bad in this country. But Mexico was in turmoil before him, and probably would be long after he was gone. So divided, the nation had become a country of ambition and greed, with many persons seeking to glorify themselves. Such as did Erasmo. Such as she had done by trying to bring glory to Miguel’s death.
A strange calm came over her. Miguel had died for his principles, and they were decent and good. May he rest in peace. No one deserved it more than her departed husband.
With her inner calm, surrounded by the terror of this situation, Alejandra had another realization. No longer did she hate the despotic Santa Anna. He would do himself in, with or without the casket, but what would happen to him?
And what was going to happen to Alejandra?
If she died, she would go with her principles intact. Her head lifted, her shoulders squared, she said forcefully, “I am not going to steal that casket.”
Erasmo lunged for her, his massive weight thrusting her to the ground. Luckily she didn’t hit one of the boulders, but she landed hard, twigs and pebbles biting her back as he fell atop her. She tried to fight him, but he overwhelmed her, then yanked the bandanna from his neck to wrap around her wrists. The bonds dug at her flesh. Her knee came up to strike him, but he shoved her leg down with his knee.
His hand arced; he slapped her. Hard. Pain ricocheted through her face as he yelled, “You will go along with my perfect plan!”
Her life flashed through her mind. Childhood, parents, sister. Miguel. The lonely years. The political zeal. Reece. Reece! Once, he had accused her of taking him for granted. How right he had been, and now she had jeopardized their future for a ridiculous ploy with a man driven to insanity by that same kind of fervor, both in love and in principles.