by Lyn Cote
“Don’t need to thank me. It’s my job. I’m sworn to protect the people of Texas, even new ones. I’ll see all of you in the morning.”
The pregnant woman walked past him and exited with Meuserbach, who took her arm. The smaller one—Mariel—gave him one last fleeting glance before she closed the door.
Carson sat down heavily on the side of the bed and rubbed his face with his hands.
In the sudden return to solitude, the deep heart-wound he’d sustained this week rebounded on him, nearly crushing the life from him. He drew a shallow breath, and the act caused him physical pain.
How could disappointment hurt that bad?
He closed his eyes, then forced himself off the bed. He’d done all he could for the immigrants. And now, though he had no appetite, he would go down and eat a hot meal. A man had to go on living no matter what happened to him. And he had people to lead tomorrow.
Mariel followed her mistress and Herr Meuserbach out into the chilling, miserable rain. Her English was rusty. Thanks to her father, who had taught modern languages at a boy’s academy, she had understood the main points of what the tall American had said. This man, this…. “Carson Quinn,” she murmured the name to herself. When someone talked about Americans, this was the kind of man they were talking about. He was so tall and straight. His leather clothing had been strange to her. So had that wide cape of brown wool without any fastenings that shed rainwater. And even wet and muddy, she could see that his boots had been well made.
More important than his clothing, he looked a person right in the eye. And he took action without hesitation. He didn’t ignore or brood and delay.
When Frau Heller had fainted, he had scooped her up as if she’d been a downy feather and taken her out of the rain, ordered a room, and summoned a doctor with quick, sharp orders. Mariel had seen the respect that the innkeeper and doctor had shown him.
What had he called himself? “A Ranger.” She whispered the word to herself as if it had been a new title of nobility, even grander than Prinz, prince. Ranger.
Herr Meuserbach stopped on the corner and began calling, “Achtung, bitte! Attention, please!”
The people gathered around, and her employer, Herr Jorg Heller, sought out his wife. Mariel didn’t know where he had been when his wife had fainted. Or why he hadn’t come to the room. He wasn’t a very good husband. Now Mariel stepped back, putting as much distance between them as she could without calling attention to the fact that she didn’t want to be within the man’s reach. His objectionable conduct had started just recently. He’d been unpleasant before but not offensive.
As Mariel listened to Herr Meuserbach, she understood all that the Ranger was doing for them. And he doesn’t even know us. The Herr was explaining that this man, this Carson Quinn, was evidently an official of Texas, a Ranger. Someone asked what that was. And the Herr explained that a Ranger must be like a constable who protected people from warlike natives and bandits.
And he repeated what Carson Quinn had said about his mother walking from New Orleans to San Antonio. He ended by telling them to spread the word that they must all go to the warehouse that the Ranger had rented for them for the night. There they would pack for the trek that would start tomorrow.
When Mariel looked at the faces around her, she observed various reactions. Some people looked shocked, others relieved, most doubtful. Herr Meuserbach waved his hand in a sweeping motion. “Let’s get under cover! Now! Come!”
And because they were all tired, wet, and miserable, they followed him. What choice did they have?
Mariel trailed behind her employers, slogging through the mud. She had thought that nothing could have been worse than seasickness and the two-month voyage from Bremerhaven to Galveston. But after a week of rain and no shelter and scant food, that was debatable. She closed her eyes against the chilling, sapping misery and forged on, cold rainwater and mud squishing through her stockings, in and out of her shoes, with each step.
She opened her eyes. How much could one person bear? She had the unpleasant premonition that she would find the answer to that terrible question here in Texas—this Texas that was not the paradise others had predicted.
She took a deep breath as she shivered in the cold rain. Not paradise. Yet there were Rangers in Texas, men who took action and were willing to lead. That was good, very good. The image of the tall Texan with his confident ways lifted her, gave her hope. And for so long, there had been no real hope for her future. Only regret over her past.
Early the next morning, Mariel watched the Texas man, the Ranger, stride up to the warehouse, leading his horse. He halted, gazing at the people who gathered in the warehouse doorway. She tried not to stare at him. But since everyone else was doing just that, perhaps her not staring at him would be noticed.
She could not help registering the way he looked them over, his roving eyes taking their measure. When his gaze skittered over her, she blushed and looked down. Her pale skin as always announced her embarrassment plainly. She pressed her hands over her cheeks. I will stop blushing.
Meuserbach hurried to him. “Herr…I mean, Mr. Quinn. We are ready.”
Mariel glanced up, wondering if this man sensed that many in the group did not want to leave this morning. Most had only reluctantly filled packs, which now sat at their feet.
“Has everyone eaten breakfast?” Carson Quinn asked.
“Ja. Ja.” Herr Meuserbach bobbed his head.
“Do you have a map or description of the land you’re heading to?”
“Ja.” Herr Meuserbach pulled out a document written in German. “I translate for you.” He did so.
Mariel was pleased that she had brought along the English grammar and dictionary to review again on the voyage. She’d understood most of the Ranger’s words today—more than she’d thought she would recall. Her father and Dieter had been wrong. She could and had learned.
Thinking of Dieter and his scorn brought a dip in her spirits. She shook these off. The Ranger was here. He would lead them.
Mr. Quinn appeared to consider the geographical description of the land purchased by Prince Carl. She noted that his mouth was drawn down and his brows pulled together. Did he know something about the land they didn’t?
“I know where you’re headed.” He paused. “You know there are Comanche there?”
“Comanche? Ja.” Herr Meuserbach nodded. “I have presents for the Inderin.”
Mariel’s heartbeat sped up. She had heard that these Inderin—some said savages—who lived here killed newcomers. She glanced around and saw the same fear in other faces.
“Here. Look.” Mr. Quinn lowered himself onto his heels. With his knife point in the wet sandy dirt, he sketched in large bold strokes what must be a map of Texas.
“Here we are on the coast. We’re here,” he said, pressing his knife tip into the coast. Then he pointed to the lines he had traced. “These are the Colorado and Guadalupe rivers.” Then he made two more impressions. “I’m to meet my family here in Montezuma. And we’re on our way home to our ranch southwest of San Antonio here,” he said, indicating each in turn.
“Where is our land?” Herr Meuserbach asked.
“Here.” Carson pressed his knife at a place just north of the impression that had been San Antonio. “Your land’s in the Hill Country.”
“How long to go there?” Herr Meuserbach pointed to the impression where their land was.
“If it was just me on horseback, five or six days. With all these people on foot”—Mr. Quinn motioned to the crowd pressing in around them—“twice that at least. Plus there’s been a lot of rain, so the rivers and creeks will be high and running fast.”
Meuserbach started to stand, his chin low. “You think the freight wagons will not come back soon.”
Mr. Quinn held up a hand, stopping him. The Ranger traced another line far south of the other two lines, another river it seemed. “Here’s the Rio Grande, where they’ve all gone. Who knows when they will get back here? I don’
t. Do you?”
The distance from Galveston to the Rio Grande River looked vast. Mariel wondered at a land this big and with so much openness. What would it look like, feel like? In Germany, towns and villages were close, and one did not usually travel far from home. This new land, with its overflowing rivers and vast miles, was unsettling. Uncertainty prickled over her skin. She rubbed her arms with her hands.
Herr Meuserbach suddenly nodded several times. “We go. Ja. We go.”
The Ranger rose and looked around at the crowd in the doorway. When Herr Meuserbach turned and began giving orders, Mr. Quinn held up a hand. Meuserbach fell silent. Every eye turned to Quinn.
“I need to make a few things clear first. Will you translate what I say to your people?” Without waiting for agreement, the Ranger went on, “Texas is a good place to live, but it’s not an easy place to live.” He paused and listened to his words being relayed.
“There are very few towns,” he continued. “As we walk to your land, we will have to hunt for food. There won’t be many inns or places to shelter for the night.”
The faces around Mariel drew down into grim lines or widened in surprise.
“Some of you will probably die on the way.”
When they heard this reluctantly translated, a few people gasped.
“You are weak from a long sea journey, and now you face an even tougher one overland. The rivers are high and swollen with spring rain. You need to decide if this is what you really want to do. You have choices.”
There was no sound but the falling rain, the Texan’s strong voice, and their translation.
“You can stay here in Galveston, find work, and get a place to live. Or you can get on a boat and go back to New Orleans. There are jobs there. You don’t have to go to this land if you’ve changed your minds.”
Mariel looked at Herr Meuserbach’s face. He didn’t like translating this, but he did it.
Mr. Quinn perched his hands on his hips. “Now does anyone have any questions?”
Silence.
Then her employer Herr Heller raised his arm. “You have see our land, ja?”
“Yes, I’ve been there,” the Texan replied. “It’s a beautiful place, good fresh spring water in abundance. But you’ll be farming in the valleys, not the hillsides. It won’t be easy there.”
Another man raised his hand. “Inderin? They take off hair truly? And kill?”
Mr. Quinn nodded. “They take scalps.”
Mariel felt a shiver of common fear go through them all.
“I want to take a vote, a canvass,” Mr. Quinn said, folding his arms over his chest. “Everyone fourteen and over, man and woman, must decide for themselves if they really want to go farther west.”
Herr Meuserbach interrupted, “These people signed a document with the Adelsverein—”
The Ranger cut him off. “Yes, but they signed in Europe, not here in Texas. I’ve already told you that you are facing a life-and-death decision. Do you want to be responsible for forcing someone to go forward—only to bury them in a lonely grave far from home and family?”
The Ranger’s words silenced the German.
Mr. Quinn continued, “So only the ones who really and strongly want to go on should be held to their agreement. Everyone needs to make this decision—men and women.”
Mariel’s heart began to hop and skip. Vote? This Ranger would let her decide—in fact, insisted—that she give her opinion? Women voting; she had never heard of such a thing.
“The husbands will decide,” Herr Meuserbach objected, looking stubborn.
The Texan stood straighter and looked directly into the faces turned to him. “Everyone gets a vote. When a man is living out on the frontier, his family has to be behind him one hundred percent. A man depends on his wife and the wife on the husband, because usually that’s the only one near enough to help. It’s time to decide which way you want to go—west, east, or stay here. It’s time to find out if the whole family agrees. If not, it won’t work. At a crucial moment, it could mean life or death.”
The Texas man took a step back. “You all talk it over, and then we’ll take a vote. That’s how we do things here in Texas.” He amended, “In America.”
Two
You all talk it over and then we’ll take a vote. That’s how we do things here in Texas. In America. The Ranger’s new and amazing words replayed in Mariel’s mind.
Until Herr Heller slapped her cheek. She gasped. “Stupid girl, listen. Now when the vote is taken, you will vote to go on, just like my wife. I’ll have none of this nonsense of servants and women telling men—” The man’s voice stopped. He looked over her head, wide-mouthed.
Mariel whirled around. The Ranger was standing right behind her, his arms folded and his eyes boring deep gouges into Herr Heller. Her breath caught in her throat. As the Ranger continued to stare, the people around her all fell silent.
Herr Heller was no match for Carson Quinn. He nodded, then lowered his eyes, chastened.
The Texan walked on, and Heller muttered curses under his breath. Mariel moved away from him, but she remained near enough to respond to her mistress if she should be needed. Mariel tingled all over with the shock of what had just taken place. Herr Heller had never struck her before. She had been so surprised that she hadn’t been able to say a word. Would he try it again? And the Ranger had defended her, a servant. Her father had been an educated man. She had lowered herself to a servant because that had been the only way she’d been allowed to come on this voyage. No women had been allowed unless they’d been under the protection of a husband or master. And staying in Germany had not been a choice, not after her husband’s shameful death.
Her mind came back to the present. Did she want to stay here and be free of Heller?
“Okay!” The Ranger held up both hands. “Time to vote!” Herr Meuserbach translated, and there was silence.
“If you want to stay here,” the Texan called out, “raise your right hand!”
It seemed that everyone was suddenly sober, glancing around to see whose hands rose. Hands began to rise all around. Her own hand twitched, as if it wanted to rise also. But here she would be a defenseless woman alone in a strange land. The thought froze her hand to her side.
Herr Heller stood, his arms folded over his chest, looking disdainful of those who were signaling their desire to stay. What would he do if she voted to remain in Galveston? She almost wanted to do it to see his reaction.
“Okay!” Mr. Quinn shouted. “Come toward me. And I’ll tell you where to go and look for work.”
Those who’d decided to stay behind moved forward. One by one, the Ranger and Herr Meuserbach dealt with them. Then they began saying good-bye. And soon they were walking away into the mist. As Mariel watched familiar people departing under the gloomy sky, a lonely, gray mood slithered into her heart. The pull to follow them tugged at her. Mariel went to her mistress, who squeezed her hand.
The Ranger lifted his hands again and silence fell. “I want to make sure that everyone gets a vote. All those who want to go on, raise your right hands.”
Until that moment, Mariel hadn’t realized that the act of voting was not as easy as she’d thought. No one before had ever asked or cared if she’d had an opinion. Not even when it had come to her parents choosing her husband. Now she was in Texas, where she was asked for her opinion. She found she wanted to go on for the same reason she had boarded the ship in Bremerhaven. She wanted to put as much distance between her and Germany, between her and the past, as possible.
She looked up and saw that the Ranger was looking straight into her eyes. Awareness of him splashed through her, a warmth that combated the relentless rain outside the warehouse. This man was sworn to protect the people of Texas. She trusted this man, this Ranger. She took a deep breath. Slowly her hand rose. I am now a woman of Texas, or I will be if I vote to go on to our land. A woman of Texas—she liked the sound of that. It was good and strong. Hopeful.
Carson looked over the rais
ed hands and nodded, disgruntled. He drew breath bit by bit. “All right. Those of you who are going, you need to look in your packs and take out anything that you don’t absolutely need. We need canteens, tools, guns, knives, axes, extra clothing, mending thread and needles, cooking utensils and food.”
He rubbed the back of his taut neck. These people didn’t understand what would be asked of them over the miles to come. How many of them would die along the trail? He gritted his teeth. “If you take unnecessary items, in the miles ahead you’ll only find that you discard them along the way.”
He’d seen evidence of this on every trail he’d ever traveled. “If you leave items here, at least they will stay safe in a dry and locked warehouse. You’re going to be walking at least two weeks, and every pound, every ounce will grow heavier every day. Understand?” He hoped this warning would cause a few more to stay behind.
After the translation, the remaining immigrants nodded. Many bent to sort through their packs again.
“Hey!”
Carson turned and through the mist and rain saw Tunney ambling toward him leading his horse. Carson raised a hand in welcome. “Tunney, what can I do for you?”
Tunney walked up and grinned. “I’m bored to tears with weeks of rain and thought I’d travel with you as far as Montezuma. I got a cousin there, and I’ll rest a spell with him.”
Carson wasn’t fooled. Tunney was lending him a much-needed hand. Carson grinned, suddenly able to breathe freely. “I guess I can stand your sorry face for a little while, at least, till Montezuma.”
“Same here,” Tunney joked.
Shouldering the weight of these nearly sixty lives depending on him, Carson drew himself up straighter. Tunney was a godsend. “Okay, let’s get going, then.” Everyone swung their packs over their shoulders. Two men were carrying a plow between them. It hung on a long rod that rested on their shoulders. Another two men were carrying what looked like a length of sturdy canvas, rolled-up and tied, one man at each end. Even the children shouldered packs. It grieved Carson to see young backs bearing such burdens. Children should be allowed to roam free. But this was the way it had to be. On the frontier, a child grew up fast. He had.