by DiAnn Mills
Marianne rose from the bed and smoothed her dress. “I should brush my hair and wash my face. I won’t be long.”
“Your papa wants you to wear one of the new gowns Don Lorenzo had designed for you.”
She gazed at her mother in the faint candlelight. “What an unusual request. I planned to wear them only in the don’s presence, but if you feel it’s important then I will comply with Papa’s wishes.”
“Please,” her mother said. “I believe it might help your father’s grim mood. And I’ll help you dress.”
“Of course.” Marianne stepped to the trunk containing her most elegant gowns.
Selecting a bright blue one, her mother helped her fasten the many buttons. Moments later, they entered the hall for the reception room where the roar of men’s voices echoed throughout the house.
Marianne expected to see Spanish noblemen or even soldiers, but not the dirty assortment of characters seated in her father’s chairs and filling their glasses with Papa’s finest wine.
“There you are.” Papa had the telltale smell of wine on his breath and a slight slur of his words. Normally he drank only one or two glasses. He claimed it clouded his judgment, and he prided himself on being in control. Tonight, however, she wondered if he’d partaken of more.
The sordid lot stood as Papa began the introductions.
“Daughter, these men are from Virginia, where we came from. Your mother met these gentlemen earlier. They’ve ridden a long way to see our hacienda and deserve our finest welcome.”
Marianne forced herself to smile while her heart pounded against her chest. Could these men be the ones Papa had contracted to help him secure La Flor? She counted six bearded, unkempt men who desperately needed a bath. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said. “I hope you will enjoy your stay here and come to see why we love Texas.”
They all removed their hats and nodded politely. Some tripped over their responses and others merely nodded or grinned, revealing missing and yellowed teeth.
“I’ve asked Carmita to prepare a hot meal for our guests,” Papa said.
He poured wine into awaiting glasses, splashing its contents on a heavy wooden table. Marianne noted regretfully that the wine had been a gift from Don Lorenzo.
“We shall see how Carmita is progressing,” her mother said, beckoning to Marianne with a nod.
Once in the kitchen, Marianne commented on the foul odor coming from Papa’s guests and asked why the men were visiting.
“I’m not sure.” Her mother bustled about to assist Carmita. “But we’ll make their stay with us pleasant.”
Marianne searched through the trastero, the huge cupboard, looking for appropriate serving dishes. It proved a difficult task due to the flickering candlelight. Some of the dishes had been broken when Felipe and the others broke into their home, and the dishes hadn’t been replaced. From the looks of her father’s friends, she doubted if they minded whether their plates were chipped or not.
A short while later, Marianne and her mother served the arrivals from Virginia. Fortunately, the effort didn’t require much work as the men appeared to inhale Carmita’s beef stew and tortillas. How could they even taste the food? While attending a man who asked for a second plateful, Marianne noticed his gaping shirt across his stomach. Even in the shadows, she could see his hairy stomach protruding like a pig’s rump. The sight disgusted her. She’d grown accustomed to poor people but not uncouth ones.
Papa’s guests cursed with every breath and displayed no manners to speak of. At last, she and Mama were free to retire to their rooms.
But Marianne could not go to bed yet. She still needed to talk with Papa about earlier in the day, but not until his friends left the house for the night. She guessed they’d sleep with the vaqueros.
Time trickled by. Fully dressed, Marianne fought the urge to sleep until she finally rose from her bed and paced the floor. Shortly after midnight, she heard the outside door close and the sounds of coarse laughter and crude remarks cease. She listened a moment longer, then eased open the door to be certain the house was empty except for Mama and Papa.
Marianne knew her father would be in his study, a habit before retiring to his room. He would sit back in his chair and stare straight ahead. She often wondered what thoughts sped past his mind in the quietness of night, but she never had the courage to ask.
Stepping closer through the reception room, she distinctly heard the low hum of men’s voices. Pausing, she curiously inched forward until she saw the light from the study door cast a faint shadow on Papa and one of the men from Virginia.
“So how do you plan to go about this?” the man asked. The chink of his glass against a bottle punctuated his question.
“Here, take a look at this map,” Papa said. “I’ve marked La Flor and the easiest way to drive a herd of cattle into the valley.”
Marianne held her breath for fear they might discover her. What was Papa planning to do?
“When do you want it done?” The man cursed and gulped his drink.
“I want to leave mid-morning. That gives us plenty of time to round up about a thousand head of my cattle and hold ’em until way after dark.”
“I see,” the man said. “Then we stampede those longhorns into the village.” He chuckled. “Those huts will be flat by the time we’re finished, along with the people sleeping inside.”
“Exactly. Armando Garcia and his rebels are going to pay for what they did to me. And as soon as the last steer is through, I want to set fire to those huts. I don’t want any evidence left for the Spanish. The governor has given me enough trouble.”
Chapter 25
Marianne covered her mouth to keep from crying out. Papa planned to destroy La Flor and everyone living there. Innocent men, women, and children would die at her father’s hand. How could he conceive such an evil plot?
“Ain’t ya worried the least bit about the Spanish?” the man from Virginia asked.
“No. I have it all worked out. In the morning, I’ll announce to the vaqueros that I’m taking all of you north to look for mustangs. We’ll ride out, then skirt around west toward La Flor. By the time the Spanish find out about the burned village, you will be long gone to Virginia, and I’ll have a perfect alibi.”
“You’ve thought of everything,” the man said. “Just like in the old days.”
“You can gamble on my words and win a fortune.” Papa’s voice rang with confidence, or perhaps the alcohol spoke for him. “And I have a few mustangs that Clay and I rounded up before he died. We can drive them this way on our way back from the valley.”
“I was looking forward to a couple of purdy señoritas.”
“I don’t care what you do as long as they end up as charred bones.” Papa laughed. An ugly laugh.
Marianne couldn’t bear to listen to any more. She fought her first impulse to confront Papa with his murderous scheme. But he could easily confine her to her room while they were gone. How could he be stopped? Even if she alerted Juan or one of the vaqueros to ride for help from the soldiers in San Antonio de Bejar, they would not return in time. She crept back to her room to think and pray.
To do nothing meant abandoning all the villagers to their deaths. And even if help from San Antonio arrived in time, Papa would be tried for murder. What choice did she have? How could she send her own father to the gallows? How could she send the people of La Flor to their deaths?
Flinging herself on her bed, Marianne shivered, but not from any cold. How could Papa plan so many murders? With dry eyes she pondered her father’s malicious intent. Armando, his aunt and uncle, little Rico, Emilio, and the others faced death at the hands of her father. How could he live with himself? How could she live with herself if he succeeded, and she did nothing to prevent their deaths?
Marianne sat upright on the bed. In the flickering candlelight, shadows danced on the walls. As she studied their patterns, a thought occurred to her. She shook her head to dispel the lingering notion, but it refused to leave he
r.
Oh, Lord, are You talking to me? Am I to consider such a dangerous thing? She stood and rubbed her arms to banish the numbness waging war with her senses. What You are asking frightens me. I can’t do this. She walked to the window and peered outside at the night sky. A myriad of stars greeted her, burning more brightly than the candlelight illuminating her room. A full moon held her spellbound. The heavenly bodies cast an ethereal glow to the earth below.
Whom shall I send? whispered the Voice that challenged her to do His bidding.
I don’t know if I’m strong enough. I would have to ride within the hour to reach La Flor by daylight.
Didn’t you see the moon and stars lighting your way?
She caught her breath. Had she really a choice in the matter? By doing nothing, she sent many people to their graves. Ignoring Papa’s hideous scheme meant she was as guilty as those who drove the cattle to La Flor and lit the torches to their homes. Her stomach churned with the undertaking. Memorized Scripture escaped her while she wrestled with the panic that seized her heart and mind. What if she lost her way? Did Comanches roam the night for unsuspecting prey? What if Armando did not believe her?
She wrapped her arms around her waist and begged for the unrest to leave her. Instead, images of those she knew and loved in La Flor flashed across her mind. She had no choice but to try to warn them and pray God would right Papa’s savagery without anyone being killed.
While Marianne waited for Papa’s friend to leave the house, doubts again assaulted her. Fighting fear of the unknown, she praised God for using her to warn the people of La Flor. She would not be alone. No matter what happened, He rode with her.
Another hour passed before the big door creaked and closed. From the side of her window, she watched the man swerve and stumble on his way to the bunkhouse. His drunkenness and accompanying sleep would be her clear path to the stables. She changed from her elegant gown back into the dress she’d worn earlier. If she had to ride in her own clothes, she certainly didn’t want to soil Don Lorenzo’s gift.
Again, Marianne kept her ears poised at the door until Papa’s heavy boots plodded down the hallway to his room. Anxious to be on her way, yet fearing discovery, she stood motionless, hearing nothing but the sound of her own heartbeat.
When at last she heard Papa’s snores, she stole down the hallway, through the reception room, his study, and on to the kitchen. She slipped outside, grateful the door opened without the familiar creak. Once safely beyond the house, she released a heavy sigh. Another problem presented itself. Could she saddle and bridle Diablo in the dark? She couldn’t risk a lantern in the stable. And what of a change of clothing? She needed to ride in the skirt and blouse packed in the trunk near Diablo’s stall.
Marianne hurried to the stables and lifted the wooden latch. She doubted if anyone lingered inside, but the threat still played havoc with her mind. Normally, Papa had a vaquero guard the house and barns, but she had yet to see him. After pulling the door to a close, she leaned against it and inwardly breathed a prayer of thanks. Diablo sensed her presence and began to stir in his stall.
“Hush, Diablo,” she whispered. The sound of her voice alerted her to how quickly she might be discovered.
Suddenly, she realized she could see the objects about her. Glancing up to a high window, she noted that the moon was set perfectly in the night sky and shone down through the rafters. She smiled despite the circumstances. How wonderful of God to place the silvery light to guide her.
She tiptoed to Diablo and assured the stallion of her presence. In silence and with ease, Marianne prepared her horse before securing her pale riding skirt and blouse. She purposely hung her dress on a peg in the stallion’s stall. In the morning when Papa and his friends saddled up to leave, she needed them to find her clothes and to assume she’d taken an early morning ride.
The thought of returning home made Marianne fearful. No. She refused to think of Papa’s wrath. God already knew her destiny, and she must trust Him to deliver her. Gathering up Diablo’s reins, she led him through the stable and closed the door behind her. Glancing about, she saw no one and in one fluid motion, she stepped into the stirrup and onto the saddle.
“Señorita. Stop,” a voice said behind her.
Marianne whirled on Diablo and peered into the barrel of a musket.
Armando woke with a start. Silence. What had drawn him from his few precious hours of sleep? His Tio Manuel snored lightly and outside he heard a few insects, but nothing else. He remembered his dreams…Marianne. Lately, she seemed to haunt him rather than bring him a moment of consolation. He tried to comfort himself in knowing she would live a comfortable life as the wife of Don Lorenzo Sanchez, but nothing worked. Even the freedom enjoyed by his people failed to cure the ache. At times he searched the faces of the brown-eyed señoritas of La Flor to find a young woman to take her place, but all he could see was Marianne’s blue-gray eyes.
Isabella and Emilio were to be married in two weeks’ time. Armando gave all the outward appearances of happiness for the couple, but inside he envied their love and devotion. He despised his own loathing of their promising future.
Shaking his head in the dark, Armando could not deceive himself. He had hoped that in securing the land for his people he might find release for his restless soul. But clearly not even Marianne could fill the void plaguing him. If only he knew how to find lasting peace. Most claimed the hand of Dios calmed the wayward soul, yet one must believe to enjoy the blessings. Lately, he wondered if he had been wrong. Ever since Padre Bernardino had told Armando about his father, he’d felt a softening in his spirit and a desire to return to the Dios of his youth. A verse from Micah that he had memorized years ago often came to mind. He hath shewed thee, O man, what is good; and what doth the LORD require of thee, but to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God?
Marianne wished she could stop the incessant hammering of her heart against her chest. The sickness she’d experienced earlier now resurfaced. “Por favor, do not summon mi padre, I beg of you.”
The young vaquero lowered his weapon. Straining to see him in the shadows with his hat pulled over his eyes, she thought she knew his face, a recently hired young man.
“My duty is to serve Señor Phillips,” he said.
She held her breath and prayed. “By all that is holy and good, turn away and let me go.”
“Señorita—”
“Por favor,” she said barely above a whisper. “You did not see me this night.”
The young man hesitated and slowly brought the musket to his side. A moment later, he walked away.
Marianne did not waste a moment digging her heels into Diablo’s side. She refused the thought of Papa or his friends from Virginia pursuing her. They would have to catch her first, and Diablo had chosen to fly with the wind.
Never had she seen the night sky light up the earth with such clarity, as though God Himself lit the path toward La Flor. Surely God is with me. Why else this miracle?
Fear left her as she gave her stallion full rein. Leaning over Diablo’s neck, she felt as one with him. They were crusaders, a pair hoisting high a banner of righteousness. She chastised herself. How silly of her to compare herself to a soldier of God. She was but a mere young woman sent on an errand of warning. Nothing more.
“My rebel, my prince,” she whispered to Diablo. “You are just like my Armando.” A fluttering nudged at her stomach. Yes, before the morning sun broke through a blue-black sky, she would see her beloved. The excitement…the mission…the notion of touching Armando pushed her on.
Miles were behind her, and La Flor lay ahead. She did not know what the people would do to protect themselves, but she’d help.
A hint of yellow crept across the horizon while Marianne viewed signs of the approaching valley. Awaken the dawn. Prepare to fight. Many hours would pass before this site became a battleground. Dare she return home and hide what she’d done? In a twinge of regret, she considered her actions. Papa might be k
illed as a result of her warning the village. Even so, Armando and all of his people would be murdered if she held her tongue. Her thoughts warred with her spirit. In one breath she believed in her purpose, and in the next she feared this was nothing more than another rebellious act against Papa.
Oh, God, I believe this is Your will. Forgive me if I have been impulsive and sinned against You and my family.
Studying the skyline, Marianne wondered how long it would be before the posted guards stopped her. Slowing Diablo to a walk, she rode cautiously, having no desire to get shot or struck down.
“Halt.” A man stepped in front of her path.
Marianne tightened her hold on Diablo. The stallion would stomp the man to the ground if given an opportunity. “I need to talk to Armando Garcia,” she said in Spanish. “This is most urgent.”
The man lifted his head. Felipe.
Chapter 26
Felipe peered up at Marianne, and his eyes narrowed. Months ago, he’d been furious when Armando released her, and she could only imagine what was going through his mind now. Remembering his harshness and the things he’d said and done during her abduction, she trembled. Nothing stopped him from abusing her. Nothing but Diablo’s fierce loyalty.
“Felipe, La Flor is in grave danger. Mi padre has arranged for everyone here to be killed.”
He turned his head as though casting aside her words. A moment later he stared into her eyes. “How do I know this isn’t a trap? Señor Phillips may be behind you.”
Marianne shook her head. “I’m alone. Please believe me.”
“You rode from the Phillips Hacienda without an escort?” He spat upon the ground.
“Look at the hour. I’ve rode this distance alone to warn the village.”
Felipe said nothing, as though contemplating her words. He stepped toward her, and Diablo snorted. She held the stallion’s reins firmly, but she’d not hesitate to allow Diablo to protect her.