Allegiance

by Rosalie More

  Her heart ached for him. “Stop worrying. Domingo won't touch the muskets unless I say so. He promised, and I believe him. I'll carry out the mission here and meet you at Bent's Fort as soon as I can, all right?"

  "I don't get a choice, do I?” He leaned back against the muslin-draped wall and gazed up at the daub and wattle ceiling. “I was laying in that jail cell today, full of remorse for my sins, because they said I would die at dawn. And I kept thinking about how I'd never see you again. I've made a lot of mistakes, but the worst was dragging you into this. If I only had it to do over."

  Even if Amy had known what to say, she wouldn't have been able to get it past the lump in her throat. How could she make him understand why she must stay and finish this? She could no longer think of herself alone, else she would follow Tyler anywhere he led her. It wasn't just the land grant, or living up to her commitment to Houston. It had to do with making sure that, if she did make a home here, she could live in freedom, and her children after her. She perceived a larger picture, a cause so vital, so far-reaching, she couldn't turn her back on it. “It's just for a short while, Tyler."

  Slowly, he got to his feet. “I'll go now. Because you'll be in more danger if I stay. If the federales aren't on my trail now, they soon will be."

  She followed him out to the walled patio in front, struggling not to cry. The Orlandos followed.

  "Raul, you take my horse,” Amy said. “It's already caught up."

  The younger Orlando threw a saddle on Sugarfoot, cinched it down, and leaped on. Without waiting, he applied spurs and trotted out the gate.

  Tyler swung into his saddle and sat gazing down at Amy, his knee on a level with her heart.

  She handed him the loose end of the tether rope, blinking back tears. It took all her will not to clutch his leg and plead with him not to go. “You want to take my carbine?"

  "No, Raul's a walking arsenal. We'll be fine.” His bay whinnied and sashayed in a restless half-circle, plainly dismayed at being left behind by Sugarfoot.

  Amy filled her eyes with the man she loved, memorizing the breadth of his shoulders under the serape and the way his gray eyes reflected the moonlight under his hat brim.

  He returned her gaze with equal intensely. “Come with me."

  "I can't. Please try to understand.” A sob caught in her throat.

  His horse pranced in place, tossing its head and blowing impatiently through its nose.

  "Let's have a kiss before I go, then—for luck.” Tyler reached down for her.

  Amy placed her foot on his boot in the stirrup and hauled herself up. His arm came around her waist, pulling her hard against his thigh. He kissed her firmly, a tormented kiss so full of despair it stole her breath. Was she really doing the right thing? She teetered on the brink of indecision, wondering how she could let him go.

  As the spirited horse sidestepped across the yard, Tyler's arm tightened around Amy. She broke off the kiss and leaned away from him, suddenly aware that he might throw her across the saddle in front of him and gallop away. The temptation was written on his face.

  She pressed her palms against his chest. “Let me down, Tyler."

  He stared at her for a moment, obviously weighing his alternatives. “What if I told you I loved you and can't bear to leave you?"

  Her heart nearly stopped. She searched his face as doubts assailed her. “Don't ever say that unless you mean it!” She struck at him blindly, her fists landing on his shoulder and upper arm. “Let me go! You'll say anything to get your way, won't you?"

  Sucking in his breath sharply, he loosened his grip.

  She dropped to the ground, sensing that her blows had hurt him. What had the federales done to his arms and hands anyway? Before she could plead forgiveness, he wheeled his horse away.

  She backed away from the reckless hooves, her arm outstretched. “Tyler—"

  Without another glance at her, he drove his heels into the horse's belly; the bay leaped into a gallop, scattering sand and dirt.

  Long after the hoofbeats had died away in the distance, Amy stood there, straining her eyes and ears. Nothing stirred in the velvet night. The only sound was the desert wind soughing through the canyon.

  A sense of utter loss shattered her resolve. Unchecked tears spilled down her cheeks. “Tyler, wait!"

  Chapter 26

  On Sunday morning, as arranged, Amy slipped away from the Lorenzo house where she had been staying to meet Rosa Orlando. Ordinarily, she'd be attending mass with Felicité at the Parroquia, but today she headed toward the footbridge over the Rio de Santa Fe into the poorer Analco district.

  Hurrying through the narrow winding streets toward the humble church of San Miguel, she thought about how appalled Felicité would be to discover where she was going and why. Amy had gathered many bits and pieces of news about rebel activities, but she needed more details—names and places. If she could get the kind of information she really needed, she could complete the mission. She could arm the rebels so they would drive Pérez and Armijo out, thus winning the right to vote for the kind of government they wanted.

  Then Tyler could return safely. He might even decide to stay.

  Week after week, his final words had echoed over and over in her heart: What if I told you I loved you and can't bear to leave you? She'd doubted him at the time—God forgive her! She had to find out if it was true ... or lose her wits. The terrible empty feeling inside her was a constant reminder of their unfinished business. Over and over, she replayed in her mind the events of the night they parted, wondering what she could have done differently, what she could have said.

  She always ended at the same conclusion, however: the only way she could show him how much she cared was to carry out a successful mission for him. If she made his superiors happy, his future would be assured. The army would take him from her, but he would be happy.

  It was a dangerous game she was playing. She must be wary as she plotted against Santa Anna's appointed governor, for she walked a tightrope between the official circle of government and the agitating rebels she hoped to reach through Rosa's family.

  Glancing nervously around, she hesitated before stepping onto the bridge, but saw no one she knew. Hurrying on, she thought of the risk she was taking. Was it worth it? She couldn't let herself become discouraged, even though her efforts so far had been fruitless; there'd been no blatant signs of the civil unrest both Alizar and the Orlandos predicted. One day blended into another with maddening sameness. Days lengthened into weeks, then months.

  While Alizar had brought news about Jeb whenever he could, her appeals to do something about it met with no success. Jeb had been marched to El Paso del Norte or perhaps as far south as Chihuahua for trial. That's all anybody knew for sure.

  But it was Tyler she ached for. At night when she couldn't sleep, in the morning when she first awoke, whenever a conversation lulled during the day, her thoughts veered to him. The yearning went bone deep. Isolation intensified the loneliness. Tyler, where are you? He might still be at Bent's Fort waiting for her—she counted on that—but he could have given up and gone east to St. Louis, New York, or the Capitol. She had no way of knowing.

  The memory of his last embrace remained vivid in her mind. What she wouldn't give to feel his arms tighten around her again, to succumb to his kisses. If she had it to do over, would she let him leave the territory without her? The question haunted her relentlessly.

  Amy paused in front of the old church and glanced around for Rosa. The yard bustled with the downtrodden: peones, laborers, servants, and foot soldiers. Those who had them brought spouses and offspring. Some lived in bondage, some walked free, but all were indios, half-breeds, mulattos, or other castes of “broken color". In their ragged clothes and rawhide sandals, even Amy's oldest work dress set her apart as a well-to-do foreigner.

  Amy paused near the gate as her conscience grappled with divided loyalties. As a guest of the alcalde, she shared the privileged life of the rich, but her heart went out to these
wretched people, held in servitude by the debts and obligations they could never quite work off. They received little reward for their labor and were treated like slaves by a system in which they had no voice. Resolution straightened Amy's spine: the time had come for change.

  She spotted Rosa finally—down on her knees, struggling along the path toward the entrance to the church. A blue rebozo covered her head. With each laborious step, she fondled the beads of the rosary dangling from her fingers and moved her lips in silence.

  Amy bent over her. “Rosa, what are you doing?"

  Rosa glanced up. “A penance. I vowed to do this every Sunday until Jeb comes home.” Her voice quavered. “Will you walk beside me?"

  Humbled by Rosa's devotion, Amy could only gaze down at her friend in awe. “Of course.” She matched the snail's pace into the church, moved to tears by Rosa's act of faith.

  After mass, she led the limping girl to the stream and washed her bloodied knees with a handkerchief. “That is quite a penance. It makes me ashamed that all I've done is write letters about Jeb to the chargé d'affairs in Mexico City."

  Rosa's eyes popped. “Ashamed? How can you say that? You made a great sacrifice when you said goodbye to your true love so you could stay here and fight for Jeb. You not only put Jeb's life before your own happiness, but even the cause of the people. I wept for you when your novio rode away. You are the bravest person I know."

  A lump formed in Amy's throat. “But I didn't realize what I was doing. I thought it would be just for a short while. If I'd known what little good I'd be able to do...” She studied Rosa's face hopefully. “Perhaps you have something to tell me of this rebel cause you keep talking about?"

  "Not much.” Rosa sighed. “My cousins in Santo Domingo insist everyone has had enough of Governor Pérez. They believe Mexico City sends him money, but that he keeps it all for himself, living in the greatest luxury. And if that's not enough—he loots the Franciscan Missions, confiscating everything. He forces the men from the pueblos to march in his army, but does not pay them. A third of every year they must serve. Does he care that their families starve because they cannot work their farms and harvest enough food for the winter?"

  Amy regarded her intently. “What do they plan to do about it?"

  "Before we can make war, we must have enough men to fight. We can only be sure of those from Santo Domingo and a few neighboring pueblos. It is hard to develop trust among different tribes when you plot treason. We do not even speak the language of the tribes in the north—only Spanish. The one thing we have in common with them is the enemy's tongue. And our hatred."

  Amy rose from her seat by the stream and began to pace. “Maybe if the Pueblos to the south fought for their rights, others would join in."

  "It would be a risk. What if they did not?"

  Amy paused in her nervous motion. “I heard the governor sent troops up to Santa Cruz de La Cañada, but I couldn't find out what happened."

  "All I know is the alcalde there was disobedient, and the governor jailed him. But afterwards, the citizens broke him out again."

  Alarm zinged along Amy's nerves. She knew the alcaldes were officials chosen by the citizens of each town to serve as mayors and municipal judges. If the governor could jail one of them, he could jail anyone. Who would be safe? “Tell me, if the Pueblos up river began a revolution, would your people join in?"

  "Perhaps. I don't know."

  "Is the governor expecting an uprising? Preparing for it?"

  "Perhaps he is...” Rosa's eyes widened. “It would explain why he is conscripting so many soldiers from Santo Domingo lately."

  "Pérez wouldn't force the Pueblos to fight for him, would he? That's crazy!"

  Rosa laughed bitterly. “He's too stupid to realize he is rounding up rebels to fight other rebels. Not that he is very successful—most of them served their duty this winter in the campaign against the Apache Indians of Navajo. Even the governor cannot order us to serve for more than four months a year."

  Amy sank down on the riverbank and stared into the water. The sun glittered on the ripples, breaking the reflections into a million points of brilliant light, blinding her to what lay below the surface. “One good thing is that Alizar is heading up the civilian militia here in Santa Fe. He won't admit it, but I'm certain he supports the rebel cause. I wonder what he'd do if I told him I knew where he could find two hundred muskets."

  Rosa gasped and wagged her head. “No! Do not tell him!"

  "Why not?"

  "He is a pure blood! Why would he oppose an arrangement that benefits him? Alizar's life is good the way it is."

  "But he hates Pérez and General Armijo."

  Rosa continued to shake her head stubbornly.

  Amy fought a wave of exasperation. “But I don't know what else to do. The muskets will rust away to nothing in that cave while we wait. At least Alizar has a band of men who does whatever he says. And now he's handpicking the militia and training them for battle. If they had to choose, would they be more loyal to him or to Pérez?” She tried not to think of what Tyler would say, figuring he would have sided with Rosa. But he wasn't here and she was in charge. She had to use her own best judgment.

  * * * *

  In the Lorenzo patio late that afternoon, Felicité entertained Amy and several women friends by demonstrating how to create an intricate floral picture using horsehair. The women sat in a semi-circle around Felicité, watching as she pressed a few long strands of coarse hair against the dull edge of a knife with her thumb and dragged them across to make tight corkscrew curls. She attached these to fabric-wrapped rawhide squares to depict rosettes, swirls, and traceries of vines in a thick textured pattern. A finished piece of work was displayed on a ledge nearby, and the women, murmuring compliments, leaned closer to study the effect.

  Before Amy had completed hers, a maid appeared at her elbow to whisper that Alizar had come to call. Amy excused herself, leaving the women chattering happily and crimping horsehair under Felicité's watchful eye.

  When she entered the parlor, Alizar unfolded himself from a chair and came forward, spurs chinking. “Señorita Amy.” He kissed her hand, then held her at arm's length to inspect her with eyes full of bold appreciation. “You laugh?"

  She gently pulled free of his grasp. “I was just picturing the Lorenzo's horses with their tails and manes plucked bare."

  He gazed at her with a puzzled frown.

  "Never mind."

  Once more, he reached for her hand. “Come stroll with me around the plaza. I have something important to ask you."

  "Of course. I'll get my shawl."

  Amy didn't really feel like spending time alone with Alizar, but he'd been good to her through the winter and spring, selling her trade goods in Bernalillo along with his own and returning to lay bulging leather sacks of silver coins at her feet. He'd also included two of her wagons in the caravan he'd sent east under the care of his foreman Toluca so she wouldn't have to go. It would have been dangerous, he'd said, unless he went along with her, and that wasn't possible this year. Don Vicente Lorenzo had made him promise to stay in Santa Fe and organize the militia. Amy, searching for an excuse to remain in New Mexico—she had her own mission—had gratefully accepted his suggestion.

  She led the way out into the street. Already the shadows had lengthened, and cool air drove the heat from the day. “How is your militia developing?"

  He shrugged. “I hopeDonVicente does not expect too much of us—I doubt there are more than 250 operable muskets in all of New Mexico."

  "That isn't very many. He's not expecting trouble is he?"

  "Nothing definite."

  "Apache raids?"

  He hesitated. “Not only that. General Armijo has convinced him that the Texans will invade any day. If that is not enough, he also fears an uprising of the Pueblos such as we had once before in our history.” He shook his head. “It probably will not happen—such rumors have circulated before—but if it does, Americans here may not be safe."
>
  A tingle of apprehension touched the hairs on her neck. “Tell me about General Armijo. What kind of man is he?"

  Alizar frowned. “That sheep thief! He is a greedy man, but as Customs Inspector, he serves a function. Some of the customs fees certainly finds its way into his own poke, nevertheless the bulk of it reaches the treasury, and the governor depends on it."

  "I thought you and Armijo were friends."

  "He is my friend only when he wants something. He does seem particularly cordial these days. He must have something in mind—what it is I do not know."

  "Does he support the governor's policies?"

  Contempt twisted his lips. “Few men do."

  "How about you?"

  Alizar's eyes grew intent on her face. “Strange questions you ask, mi querida."

  Amy swallowed hard. She'd long ago decided that if Alizar was not a liberale, he would make a good candidate. On the small chance that she was in error, she could probably count on him to protect her anyway. “If I am to remain safe here, I must know which way the wind blows. You mentioned once that you wouldn't be surprised to see the citizens revolt against the government here. Do you still think that?"

  He nodded. “At first, I heard mostly grumbles and protests, but now Governor Pérez is encountering outright defiance. The town of Chimayó is a powder keg."

  "I'm puzzled about something. If you don't want to take Pérez's side in a revolution, why would you organize a militia to lead against the rebels?"

  "I would not expect you to understand. You must trust me to know what I am doing.” His lips curved in a mysterious smile.

  The setting sun touched the rim of the mountains, then dipped out of sight within minutes, leaving a stubborn peach-colored glow across the western sky. The water in the acequia along the walkway reflected that glow. Somewhere, a donkey brayed. As Amy strolled with Alizar past the governor's palacio, a church bell began to toll for evening prayers. The vendors in the marketplace halted their business for several minutes, standing in devout silence until the last gong faded away.

  Amy attempted reverent contemplation as required, but failed. She kept imagining the look on Alizar's face if she were to confide in him about the two hundred additional muskets he didn't know existed in New Mexico. The temptation to tell him was strong, because she was sure he opposed the government both locally and in Mexico City. With Jeb and Tyler gone, the decision was hers to make. Whether or not to share the muskets with the rebels wasn't the question, but rather when. Should she tell Alizar now or just before he entered battle?