Her Abundant Joy

by Lyn Cote

  Her Abundant Joy

  Texas: Star of Destiny

  Book Three

  Lyn Cote

  To my editor, Cynthia DiTiberio, thanks for all your

  “right on the nose” editing and encouragement.

  Also thanks to my publicists,

  Joanne Minutillo and Kendra Newton,

  who went above and beyond,

  and everyone else at Avon Inspire/HarperCollins

  who worked so hard to the benefit of this series.

  Trust in the Lord, and do good; so shalt thou dwell in the land, But the meek shall inherit the earth; and shall delight themselves in the abundance of peace…. Mark the perfect man, and behold the upright: for the end of that man is peace.

  Psalm 37:3, 11, 37

  Contents

  Epigraph

  One

  Gazing ahead through the pouring rain, Carson Quinn tried to…

  Two

  You all talk it over and then we’ll take a…

  Three

  Carson whirled his mount around. Galloped toward the continued screeching.

  Four

  Mariel choked, gasping for air. The Ranger’s father was standing…

  Five

  Sugar couldn’t move. The Germans around her didn’t appear to…

  Six

  “We thought we scared the thieves away, but they still…

  Seven

  Soon Carson, Quinn, and Meuserbach mounted their horses and bid…

  Eight

  “Do I have to?” Sugar asked, sounding like a child…

  Nine

  The midnight breeze was cool on Carson’s face. With his…

  Ten

  You are safe. You are wanted here.

  Eleven

  On the bench in Mrs. Quinn’s herb garden, Mariel sat very…

  Twelve

  Carson chewed the inside of his cheek. Then he started…

  Thirteen

  Two days later, even though the June sun had only…

  Fourteen

  Carson felt the blow. But he didn’t quite believe it.

  Fifteen

  Another tense day and night had passed. Deafened by gunfire…

  Sixteen

  Both Mariel and Carson stiffened, then Carson led Mariel out…

  Seventeen

  Tunney halted, then came straight to Carson. About halfway between…

  Eighteen

  Carson and Tunney had reached Taylor’s command in Mexico, south…

  Epilogue

  Sipping her last cup of morning coffee and wearing her…

  Historical Note

  Discussion Questions

  About the Author

  Other Books by Lyn Cote

  Credits

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  One

  Texas, April 1846

  Gazing ahead through the pouring rain, Carson Quinn tried to take a deep breath but couldn’t. A searing tightness in his chest kept reminding him; he hadn’t been able to blot out the images. Images from the past week with Blanche had blistered into his mind, knotted around his lungs. Late on his second day in the saddle, all he was looking forward to was a hot bath and a warm bed at one of Galveston’s inns, comfort for his body, if not his spirit.

  Draped within the dismal mist, he nudged his horse to churn quicker through mud and murky puddles over the last half mile into the seaport. Amid the jumble of buildings, strange people clogged the streets. He pulled up on his reins. Something had happened here. Something out of the ordinary. Something that might force him out of his own misery into the misery of others.

  People huddled under dripping trees or canvas; they stood under the overhanging roofs of stores. Everyone was drenched. Rainwater funneled down Carson’s leather hat as he steered his horse through the throng. Those who peered up at him looked pale, forlorn and sickly. They weren’t dressed like Texans, or even Americans—

  He inhaled a shallow breath. He still thought of Americans as separate from Texians, from him. But Texas was part of the United States now. Had been for months.

  Who were these people?

  He scanned the crowd and could not pick out any man who appeared to be in charge. Not that he could tell—they weren’t speaking any language Carson spoke.

  Finally, he saw someone he recognized. He hailed the man, a former Ranger named Tunney, and drew up beside him. “Hey!”

  Tunney, a tall, big-boned man with weathered folds on his tanned face, halted, then waved in recognition. “Come!” He motioned for Carson to get down and accompany him inside the nearby cantina. Carson complied, tying his horse to the hitching rail. He realized he could breathe a bit deeper. It was good to see a face he knew, a man he’d patrolled with.

  Inside, Carson found Tunney waiting for him at the bar with a mug of ale ready for him. Tunney smiled—a real smile of welcome. Nothing like the false ones Carson had endured these past few days…

  Shaking phantom memories off, Carson drank deep, then got down to business. “Who are all these people?”

  “They’re from Germany, from what I hear. Only they don’t call themselves Dutch but doit-cha.” Tunney’s mouth twisted as he tried to pronounce the word. “Been here over a week now.”

  “That’s fine and good, but what are they doing hanging around town, clogging the streets?”

  “All the drivers and their freighter wagons are off supplying the U.S. Army.”

  “All of them?” Carson paused, his cup right under his nose. He drew in the yeasty smell of the mild home brew. He’d known the U.S. Army had come to Texas but not that it had caused this.

  Tunney chuckled. “You didn’t expect the Mexicans to be happy that Texas has been annexed by the United States? I guess Polk is letting the Mexicanos know that the U.S. won’t stand for them invading Texas, now it’s U.S. territory. General Zachary Taylor is at the Rio Grande. Haven’t you kept up?”

  Carson drank some more ale. He’d been busy fighting Comanche this year, far from newspapers. And then at the wedding, his misery had sucked away most everything else and left behind only consuming pain. “I’ve been out patrolling and then…some family business came up.” He shut his mind to the taunting images. “I didn’t see a newspaper till I got to San Felipe.” And I didn’t pay too much attention to it then. Nothing much else had mattered to him at San Felipe.

  “That’s right.” Tunney raised his voice, talking over an explosion of laughter at the end of the bar. “Your mother has family there.”

  Yeah, family. Carson nodded but refused to elaborate. “So these people are just stuck here?”

  “Yeah, they aren’t happy about it, and neither are the townspeople. The Germans don’t seem to have money to buy shelter or food. Some of them speak English, but most don’t. A bad business.”

  Carson shrugged, feeling suddenly flat inside. It was as if he’d reached the point where he couldn’t muster any more emotion. This past week he’d experienced too much, but all under cover. Pride had forced him to hold it all back in silence. This made the emotions somehow more powerful, more devastating. Even now.

  Ignoring this, he chatted with Tunney about the whereabouts of other mutual friends. When he’d gleaned all the information Tunney had, Carson bid his fellow Ranger good-bye and headed back out into the soggy day to find an inn with a bath and a bed for him.

  He’d just stepped out the tavern door when he was met by a commotion. A mere two feet from him, a woman obviously in the family way collapsed. Carson darted forward and lifted her limp body from the muddy ground.

  “Ma’am? Ma’am?” He shook her a little, but she didn’t react.

  By then he was surrounded by people, all shouting at him in what must be German. He didn’t
waste any time. Barreling across the miry street with the woman in his arms, he entered the nearest inn. “I need a room!” he bellowed at the potbellied innkeeper who was just coming down the stairs. “Now! I’m a Ranger!”

  That last bit worked. What a Ranger wanted in Texas, he got. Within minutes, Carson was laying the woman down on a bed upstairs. Another woman had followed him and wouldn’t let the innkeeper push her out.

  Carson turned. “Let her stay. Send for a doctor!”

  The innkeeper left, grumbling loud and long, but Carson didn’t doubt that he would do what he’d been asked.

  He took a moment to eye the woman standing bedside the bed. She was very small and thin and reminded him of his mother and foster sister, with her flaxen hair and pale skin.

  The woman bobbed several curtseys. “Danke. Danke, mein herr.” Then she inched toward the unconscious woman and took her hand.

  Still dripping, Carson stepped back and took off his hat. He slapped it against his leg, sending droplets everywhere. Then he said, making each word distinct, “I am Carson Quinn.” He pointed to himself. “I am Carson Quinn.”

  The pale woman bobbed again. “Ich bin Mariel.” She pointed to herself, then toward the unconscious woman. “Sie ist Frau Heller.” Then she colored. “I am Mariel. I speak little English.”

  He repeated the names in his mind and nodded as footsteps came up the stairs. He leaned out the door and saw a doctor, complete with black bag. The man must have been just down the street. “In here.”

  The white-haired doctor, clad in a black frock coat, came in and went immediately to the woman’s side. He felt her forehead, took her pulse, and then unstoppered a bottle under her nose. After a quick jerk, the woman gasped and opened her eyes. Once she focused, her confusion turned to alarm. She looked at Mariel, and the two women jabbered to each other in rapid speech.

  The doctor turned to Carson. “Isn’t this woman one of the stranded Germans?”

  “Must be. She collapsed in front of me across the street. I didn’t know if she was seriously ill or just fainted.” Carson watched the woman trying to sit up. “Lay back,” he ordered and demonstrated with hand motions.

  “I think this woman is just weak from the journey here. These immigrants are in danger of disease every day they stay here. Typhus, malaria, all manner of contagions,” the doctor said. “I’ve tried to encourage them to leave, but…” He shrugged.

  “I heard. They want to leave, but there aren’t any freight wagons for them to transport their goods.” Carson folded his arms and tried to figure out what to do. “What do I owe you?”

  “Nothing. All I did was wave smelling salts under her nose. What we need is someone to take action.” The doctor eyed him.

  This was not the first time Carson had been on the receiving end of an appeal for help. Since the age of eighteen, he’d been a Ranger—six years of taking action to protect others. Judging from this situation, he’d be doing the same here.

  The bath and bed he longed for slipped further away.

  “Thanks, Doc.” He shook the man’s hand. “I’ll take it from here, then.”

  The doctor left, and Carson turned to the woman who’d said she spoke English. “Who is in charge of the Germans, miss?”

  She looked confused and shook her head, coloring.

  “Who is your leader?”

  “Leader?” she repeated, looking like she was thinking.

  “Who’s the man who runs everything?” He tried a different set of words. Again the woman shook her head.

  He paused and studied her. Under different circumstances—and with a lot more food under her belt—she might have been called pretty. But she looked half-starved, and the gray shadows under her eyes were deep and dark.

  She suddenly smiled, her lips losing their pinched look. “Herr Meuserbach lead us.”

  “Meuserbach?” he repeated, seeing a ghost of what she would have looked like happy and well fed.

  “Ja. Y-yes,” she stammered.

  “Stay here.” He pointed down. “Stay here.”

  She nodded and curtseyed.

  He pulled on his soaked hat with some regret and headed out into the relentless rain again. Though half of him had died this week, he could still do his job. Some of his fatigue melted away as he headed straight to the wharf, where all the warehouses were. Within a few minutes, he located the owner of several of them. “I need a warehouse. What do you have that’s free?”

  The older man eyed him from under bushy gray-and-white brows. “Who’re you?”

  “I’m a Ranger. Carson Quinn.” He shook the man’s hand.

  “With the freighters all off to the Rio Grande, I’m pretty full. I got only one warehouse that’s mostly empty. What do you want to store?”

  “Which one is it?” Carson asked, looking at the line of large, shabby, waterfront buildings.

  The man pointed. “What you storing? And how long?”

  “People—”

  “Hey! This isn’t an inn—”

  Carson turned and gave him a look that brooked no denial. “The people will be in the warehouse just for tonight, and then they’ll be storing their large heavy cargo in that warehouse until they can get everything transported to their new settlement.” Carson didn’t mention the fact that he hadn’t even talked to the newcomers.

  Someone had to take action before they all sickened and died of disease. And since Tunney had retired from the Rangers, that meant Carson had to be the one. As soon as these people had stepped onto Texas land, they had become his responsibility, like every other Texian.

  He pulled out his wallet, paid the man the price he named, then turned back toward the inn. On the way, he stopped at another warehouse to pick up the spices and books that had brought him to Galveston. He’d left San Felipe early to get some peace, but Galveston wasn’t proving to be a haven where he could lick his raw wounds in peace. Shaking his head, he strode off, hearing the squishing sound of mud and water with every step he took. The unpleasant sound heightened his desire for a hot bath and bed, and he quickened his pace. Perhaps he’d soon be done with this situation and could tend to his own needs.

  When he came to the inn, a large crowd of immigrants milled around the entrance. They hushed and parted as he walked in and up the stairs to the room. When he opened the door, he found a man with the two women.

  Carson looked the gentleman up and down. The German was over a head shorter than Carson, but he looked warily confident. He didn’t have the same starved look the two women had. And in spite of the dampness, his wool clothing looked well-tailored and expensive. Carson offered his hand.

  “I’m Carson Quinn.”

  “I am John O. Meuserbach.” The men shook hands. “Frau Wolffe called for me.” He nodded toward the blond who’d called herself Mariel. “Mariel said you had asked who was in charge.”

  Mariel colored again and looked at the floor. A shy little thing, Carson thought. His instinct to protect nudged him again. He looked away. “I’m a Ranger.”

  “A Ranger?”

  “Yes, Rangers are the law in Texas.” Or have been. Would that be changing now that Texas was no longer a sovereign republic?

  “The law? Have we done something wrong?” Meuserbach asked.

  “No, but you can’t just sit around here waiting for freighter wagons and drivers to carry your cargo inland. The Rio Grande River is where the freighters have driven with the U.S. Army supplies. And the Grande is weeks from here. And there’s no telling how long it will be before the freight wagons are empty and the drivers head north again. I assume you are heading west toward some new settlement?”

  The man looked as if he was having trouble keeping up. “Yes, we have purchased land west of here near the Colorado River—”

  “How many of you are there?” Carson slowed his speech to be more easily understood.

  “Nearly hundred.”

  A hundred. Carson cast a grimace at the floor. Great. “I’m heading west in the morning. I’ll lead
your group at least to Montezuma, where I’m meeting my family. We can talk all about this in the morning.”

  “But I—”

  Carson suddenly ran flat out of patience. He just wanted to be done with this. “I’ve secured a place for you and your people in a warehouse on the wharf. The owner is waiting for you. Get your people under cover for a dry night’s rest, and then we’ll leave in the morning.”

  “But we don’t have any wagons for our—”

  Carson’s impatience dug into him like spurs. “Tell your people to pack up just what they can carry. They’ll need guns if they have them, shovels, axes and hatchets, cooking pots, and all the food they can carry. Just what they can carry. Everything else will be left at the warehouse until you can send someone back to get it.”

  “But…but,” the man sputtered, “it is miles and miles to our land.”

  Carson fixed the man with a stern look. The German might as well get the plain truth and decide if he could stomach it. “My mother came to Texas in 1821 and she walked all the way from New Orleans to San Antonio. You won’t be the first to walk to your new home. Now this is the choice. You can sit here and watch your people get sick and die one by one. Or you can let me lead you out of Galveston and get to your land with most still alive. Which will it be?”

  The foreigner gawked at him, then swallowed. “You will lead us?”

  “Yes, I’m a Ranger. Have been for years. I spend my days ranging around, protecting the people of Texas from marauding Indians and from Mexican bandidos. I’m heading west tomorrow morning, and you better be ready to follow me.” Carson made his voice more forceful. “Or who knows when or if you’ll reach your destination. Do you understand me?”

  “I understand.” The man looked flustered.

  Thank heavens. “Then get your people out of the rain. I’ve been riding for two days and need a meal and some sleep.”

  “Of course.” The man bowed. “Of course.” He went to the door, then waited.

  Carson looked at the two women. The expectant mother was on her feet and looking a little better. “Are you able to—”

  “She is fine,” the blond replied, “and she thank you.”

  “Danke,” the pregnant woman said, dropping a curtsey.