Allegiance

  Alizar extended his legs, crossing his boots at the ankle. “A spy. He was carrying incriminating documents: maps of the region containing features of special interest to an invading military force—"

  "He made maps of the Santa Fe Trail for the merchant caravans to use. He made no secret of his surveying project."

  Alizar raised his eyebrows and fixed her with a cool stare. “Can you tell me what use the traders would have for a hand-drawn map of the governor's presidio in Santa Fe? And detailed reports about the size and condition of our army? No room for doubt about him, Amy."

  Amy's heart thudded in her chest. “What—what will happen now?"

  "Usually, such cases go to El Paso or Chihuahua for trial."

  "Will both he and Jeb be taken there?” How could she help them if they were so far away?

  "I would expect so. There are large prisons in those cities, while Santa Fe has only a small calabozo."

  Amy remembered the small jail. An image flashed in her mind of a Mexican woman hunkered under a barred window, her head bowed under the folds of her black rebozo. “Can't you do anything for them? Please! You know the governor, I saw you talking with him last night. You could ask him to be lenient."

  "If you think I am a friend of Pérez, you are wrong."

  Desperation added a shrill note to her voice. “I'll do anything to gain their freedom. What if I bribe the judge? I'll give him my wagons and all my—"

  "Amy...” His voice grew gentle. “These are serious crimes, not mere pecadillos."

  "Didn't you say Jeb was just a suspect? And Mr. O'Donnell could have many reasons for carrying those papers.” Unable to sit still, she rose and paced the tiled floor. “The troops looted my wagons. Even though you intervened—for which I am grateful—they kept the most valuable part of my cargo.” She turned to face him. “Why do the citizens put up with such corruption?"

  Alizar stretched his arms along the top of the bench, taking a few moments to answer. “I do not believe they will tolerate it much longer. Those who live up north in Río Arriba—around Santa Cruz de la Cañada and Fernando de Taos—are most unhappy. I predict they will drive Pérez out eventually."

  She looked at him sharply. “Are you speaking of a revolution?"

  "I would not be too surprised."

  "And if they did, which side would you be on, Alizar?” It was a risky question, but she had to know once and for all.

  He smiled slowly, meeting her gaze. “I told you, I am no friend of the governor."

  * * * *

  Tyler hurt all over. His wrists had been bound in such a way that several inches of rawhide thong hung between them. The extra length had been looped over a hook set high on the wall, and his arms stretched full-length over his head. He hadn't been uncomfortable the first five minutes or so, but after standing all night in that position, he was in agony.

  Tyler wondered how long this torment would last. Dawn brightened the world beyond the tiny window, yet still the badgering continued.

  "So, who do you spy for—America or Texas?” The inquisitor's Spanish sounded as demanding and brisk as ever. The English interpreter, on the other hand, sounded weary.

  General Manuel Armijo rose from his chair to pace the length of the small room as he asked his interminable questions. If Tyler hadn't been in so much pain, he'd have dozed off waiting for the interpreter to translate it.

  "You may think that New Mexico is too remote to receive news from Texas, but you would be wrong.” The translator, a thin man wearing a serape, sat on the floor with his back against the wall. Between utterances, he yawned and rubbed his eyes. “I know about the battles Mexico has won at the Alamo and at Goliad. I also know that most of the so-called rebels captured there were actually Americans. Now why is that? Most Texans stay home and tend to their farms while foreigners cross the border to make trouble. Santa Anna was forced to march from Mexico City with his troops to defend Texas from them."

  Tyler didn't answer. Why bother? He couldn't see where it would change his fate one way or the other. What good would it do to argue that many mestizo families were so poor and so besieged by the Comanche Indians that they wouldn't survive the absence of their men for even a short enlistment in the army? If they were shirking their duty, maybe it was because they were so cowed by generations of tyranny, they'd forgotten how to hold their heads up. Besides, the presence of American mercenaries didn't affect the purpose of the Texan War of Independence any more than the Marquis de Lafayette's aid had changed the rationale for America's Revolutionary War.

  General Armijo continued his monologue. “If the Americans in Texas are planning an invasion of New Mexico, we are ready. Any invader had better be prepared to die. Are you ready?"

  Tyler stood on tiptoe to take the weight off his aching shoulder joints. His constricted hands felt like swollen bladders, numb and pulsing. The red-hot pain in his wrists suggested that the narrow bindings had worked their way to the bone. This torture was against all that was decent in international relations. As a foreigner, he should have been booted out of the country as a persona non grata, not condemned on flimsy evidence. The papers he'd been carrying were no proof of guilt, but General Armijo would probably execute him anyway. Tyler had assured him they were part of a letter meant for his parents—he'd written them to look that way—but the general had chosen not to accept that. The written instructions from Jackson had been destroyed long ago, but what good had it done to be so careful? This bastard was only too happy to invent reasons to persecute Tyler.

  The general paused in front of him. “If you confess, I will try to help you. Instead of standing you blind-folded against a blood-stained wall and letting the soldiers indulge in target practice on your heart, I can arrange for you to go to Chihuahua for trial. Who knows, given enough time, America may negotiate your freedom."

  The fatigued muscles in Tyler's legs quivered so violently that he had to stand flat-footed again. As the strain increased on his arms, he clenched his teeth to keep from moaning aloud. What a dolt he'd been, thinking of himself as the wise leader of the mission, the great Major O'Donnell who always knew best. He'd walked right into this “fool's mate” like a new recruit. It was bad enough he'd failed Jackson and Houston, but taking the Bakers down with him would be hard to live with. Or die with, for that matter.

  "Tell me about Jeb Baker.” The general's little pig eyes showed a lot of white; together with his sly smile, his expression bordered on madness. “And is his sister really as innocent as she seems? If you bear witness against them in this crime, I might let you go."

  Tyler didn't believe that for a minute. But his heart leaped when he realized that Armijo wasn't certain of the Bakers’ role. The worst part of being locked away in jail was not knowing what was happening outside. Had Jeb succeeded in transferring the muskets to a safe place? Was Amy still at liberty? If he thought for an instant she was languishing in a cell somewhere, he'd sacrifice himself, the mission, anything at all to gain her release. It was a good thing the general didn't know that.

  Amy Victoria: her name ran through Tyler's head like an aria or hymn. He deserved every bit of this pain for what he'd done to her. She'd once blessed him with a night of unbelievable love. And in return, he'd cursed her with an assignment that had branded her a spy. He squeezed his eyes tight to hide the sudden moisture. Amy, forgive me!

  Chapter 25

  The sentries near the cannon at the corner of the plaza ogled Amy with more appreciation than suspicion. She paused and glanced around, expecting the town square to look different somehow. The air carried the same rich smells of frying onions and garlic, mesquite smoke, and burro dung. Although her wagons and oxen were no longer there—Alizar had gotten them released and hauled to his stable yard—it appeared about the same; the Mexican traders were carrying on business as usual. Of the few Americans in the caravan, she wondered how many had lost property the night before.

  She could hardly believe she was walking around free while those she loved bes
t in the world peered through bars. Well, she would use every moment of her freedom to work for theirs. As she considered her choices, she kept her eyes open for Alizar, hoping he wouldn't show up to hinder her plans. First, she would try bribery in order to visit the prisoners—that had worked before—and if not, she'd march into the palacio and confront Pérez himself.

  Escaping the Federico house had been an exercise in making excuses. Unfortunately, it had also triggered an unexpected proposal of marriage. As Alizar's wife, Amy would not be forced to pay for her brother's crimes.

  She had turned him down.

  "No? That is all you have to say?” Anger had flared in Alizar's eyes. “Just no?"

  "I owe you more than I can ever repay, but I won't make marriage part of my barter system. Your talk of producing worthy sons for the Federico family makes me feel like a brood mare."

  He snorted. “Nonsense! I think you gave your heart to someone else."

  "You may think whatever you like."

  "It had better not be the American spy.” His expression grew icy.

  She didn't answer.

  A muscle rippled along his clenched jaw. “I will kill him."

  "You wouldn't do that, Alizar.” Her heart froze in her breast.

  "If he is not the one you love, it should not matter to you."

  "I would never forgive any violence against him.” She jumped to her feet. “Or against any other American. Persecuting us because of a war with Texas is ridiculous, and I won't stand for it."

  A sulky Alizar had allowed her to depart his house without further argument. From the shade of a cottonwood tree near the corner of the plaza, she glanced back to make certain he wasn't following. His possessiveness was making her skittish.

  As usual, busy activities maintained a certain level of excitement in the plaza. In addition to the brisk trade going on among the merchants back from America, an extensive open-air market flourished in an open area near the jail. Half-clothed children flocked around the food vendors, begging for handouts. Girls in red flannel skirts dipped jugs of water from the acequias and carried them away balanced on their heads, their hips swaying gracefully.

  In the dust before the government-run tobacco store, Amy spotted the dark-stained spot where Jeb had lost so much blood. Grief rose inside her in waves of pain. She fought back her tears until rage joined the sadness, hardening her sense of purpose. If her brother died, someone would pay!

  With as calm an air as she could muster, Amy strolled down the covered walkway past the governor's palace, plotting revenge. No one must guess her intentions. She gained reassurance from the bustle of humanity that enfolded her in its natural camouflage.

  Carefully, she studied her surroundings, gathering information for her campaign. Palace, what a laugh! A square block of mud brick walls broken occasionally by a window or door hardly did justice to the word, even if it was the only building in town with glass in the front windows.

  When she reached the jail, she gazed up at the small barred window. “Tyler? Are you there?” Her voice evaporated in the thin dry air. He probably couldn't hear her through the thick walls. She would have to go inside.

  "Amy!” A feminine voice rose above the hubbub.

  She turned to see Rosa hurrying toward her. “Hello. What's wrong?"

  Rosa's red and puffy eyes indicated deep sorrow. “I have the heart broken. Jeb, mi amor, they took away. I wait here all night. Is he well?"

  Amy switched to Spanish so Rosa would do the same and not have to struggle so hard to communicate. The new tongue was coming almost automatically to her now. “Alizar said that Jeb will be all right. He spent the night in the hospital."

  "So sad to think of him in this place.” The Mexican girl reached out to touch the adobe wall, tracing a groove between the clay bricks. Her curved fingers dislodged bits of dirt and straw. “And Tyler, too. Jeb told me about you and the army officer. You love each other, he said."

  Amy smiled, feeling self-conscious. “My brother talks too much."

  "I know it is a secret. But we ... you and I are almost sisters. It is important that we trust each other."

  Amy gazed into the earnest round face with new appreciation. “If you love Jeb as much as I think, then I'll put my faith in you. I always wanted a sister."

  Tears welled in Rosa's eyes. Amy put her arms around her and pressed her cheek against the warm black hair. The girl's body shook.

  With a final sniff, Rosa drew away, wiping her eyes. “So much bad trouble."

  "Yes.” Amy gazed at the jailhouse wall. “I tried calling out to Tyler, but..."

  "He may be in one of the deep vaults below ground."

  "A dungeon?” Amy shuddered at the thought, then resolutely squared her shoulders. “I'm going inside."

  "They will turn you away as they did me."

  "I'll see about that.” Amy scowled, recalling a certain station house in New Orleans. She marched around to the main entrance and entered the building with her chin held high. Five minutes later, she was back on the street, livid with rage. “Never mind, Rosa. They've kicked me out of better jails than this. We just need a plan."

  Amy strolled around the plaza, deep in thought. She knew Jackson had sent a chargé d'affairs to Santa Fe, an official who ought to intercede on behalf of mistreated Americans. A man named Powhattan Ellis. However, she had to admit to having little success with politicians in the past. “Alizar told me there are about two hundred American traders living here. We could ask them to petition the governor."

  "There is so little time.” Rosa's plaintive voice didn't sound hopeful. “They will march the prisoners to El Paso or Chihuahua soon. Very soon."

  Disheartened, Amy sagged against a pillar to reconsider. What if she couldn't arrange freedom for Tyler and Jeb before Pérez sent them away? Time was not her ally. “First things first: we need a safe place to work from."

  "Come home with me to the Orlando hacienda. You will meet all my family. Tío Domingo and Raul will help us plan the best thing to do as soon as they return from the mountains."

  "Rosa, you are too kind. Tell me, though, what are your uncle and brother doing in the mountains?"

  Rosa stared at her with a puzzled frown. “You know.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Hiding the firearms."

  It was Amy's turn to gawk. “But I thought the troops took them!"

  "No, no. We loaded them into our carretas. The lead and gunpowder, too. When the soldiers came, they did not think to search under the pile of firewood."

  Amy's knees lost strength. She put a hand on Rosa's shoulder to steady herself. “I can't believe it! That's—!” The irony of it struck her, and she laughed.

  Rosa looked more bewildered than ever.

  Amy's mirth developed an edge of hysteria. She held her handkerchief to her face, fighting for control. “I thought what we'd done was all for nothing. And Jeb—” Sadness replaced the humor suddenly, and she began to sob. “I dreaded to tell Tyler that the mission failed."

  Rosa embraced her. “Ah, no, pobrecita. Come sit down."

  Amy sank down beside Rosa against the shaded wall, her face in her hands.

  Rosa tugged Amy's hand away and held something under her nose. “Smell this."

  A sharp odor pierced Amy's nose to the top of her skull. Shocked, her eyes flew open. Smelling salts! Her tears forgotten, she pushed Rosa's hand away. “I'll be all right. Thank you."

  Rosa put the tiny bottle away and patted Amy on the shoulder. “You thought it was all over, but you could not have been more wrong. We have much planning and work to do."

  Amy took a deep breath. “Yes ... This changes everything!"

  * * * *

  In order to keep up with Rosa riding Tyler's long-legged bay, Amy had to lope Sugarfoot. Amy didn't mind eating a little dust, though, if it meant she was doing something instead of pining away in Santa Fe. The Orlandos had become Jeb's good friends on the trail—securing the muskets for him proved it—so she didn't expect them to abandon him
now. If she could enlist their help, she'd make sure their strategy included freedom for Tyler as well as Jeb.

  Rosa turned onto a winding dirt track, part of a network of trails including so many forks and stream crossings that Amy lost all fear of being followed. Uncle Domingo's farm made the perfect hideout.

  Guilt tweaked Amy's conscience for not taking the time to let Felicité know she was all right, and especially for sneaking her horses out of the Federicos’ stable without checking with Alizar. However, if he realized how far she was willing to go to liberate Jeb and Tyler, he might stand in her way. After all, the full strength of his feelings for her didn't necessarily extend to her brother, and he'd left no doubt about his opinion of Tyler. She needed more freedom to act than his suffocating asylum offered.

  She followed Rosa around a muddy slough and into an arroyo that widened into a small valley. Against a sand-colored cliff at one end, several adobe buildings blended almost invisibly into the landscape.

  Scattering a flock of turkeys, Amy guided her horse through the gate and into the walled yard of the Orlandos’ rancho. She dismounted next to Rosa at a hitching rail. A pack of children swarmed out of nowhere to surround them, chattering and gesturing. With slightly more dignity, a group of adults gathered to offer welcome. Amy lost track of the names of most of those who Rosa introduced: a variety of aunts, uncles, and grandparents, plus a vast number of cousins, from infants to elders.

  She'd seldom seen a more creative or enterprising group; shady arbors had been set up about the yard as work stations, and after the initial flurry of greetings, several members drifted back to their industries. One woman shaped a wet clay pot. Another twirled wool into yarn with a distaff and spindle. A youth had braided long rawhide thongs to create an elaborate headstall for a horse. Amy decided she'd have to talk to these people about selling their wares in the East.

  Domingo and Raul had not yet returned from the mountains.

  Amy asked Rosa, “Do you think they met with trouble?"