by Lyn Cote
At a soft touch on her shoulder, Mariel turned to see Sugar and her little sister. Sugar put an arm around Mariel and murmured that she mustn’t worry. Erin stood in front of Mariel as if ready to protect her. Their support was unexpected, but so welcome. And heartening.
The Ranger moved to stand side by side with his father. Carson said, “I don’t know how you people do things in Europe, but if I see that man try to hit Miss Mariel or any woman again, I’ll show him again how it feels.”
“She is my servant,” Herr Heller spat out.
At his contemptuous tone, Mariel bristled. Sugar flushed angrily. Erin growled, and her hands became fists too.
“That makes no difference to us,” the Ranger’s father said. “I will not permit any man to abuse any woman or servant in my presence.”
“Neither will I,” said the other man with darker skin, the one who had welcomed the Ranger first. She had heard his name, Emilio.
“Me, too,” Tunney joined in.
Mariel was caught between shame at this very public scene and awe at being defended by people she barely knew. Would her parents have defended her like this? She doubted it.
Looking irritated, Herr Meuserbach turned to Herr Heller. “I must agree. This is a new land. In Europe, life was different. Even there, I never agreed with striking servants or other inferiors. This must stop.”
“I am my own man,” Herr Heller insisted, sneering. “No man can tell me how to treat my servant. I pay her.”
Mariel wrapped her arms around herself. Two very different reactions struggled within her. She wanted to tell Heller she was no longer his servant, but at the same time, embarrassment shamed her. Sugar hovered nearer and Erin stepped closer. Mariel wanted to speak, but a lifetime of being told to be silent was hard to leave behind.
“You are free to strike her whenever you feel like it,” the Ranger said. “However, I’m also free to beat the stuffing out of you.”
“You would try,” Herr Heller jeered.
The Ranger made a sound of amusement. “You think you are better at fighting than me? I’ve been fighting and killing for six years. That is my job. I fight to protect the people of Texas. I’ll even protect you, though I think you’re a sorry sort of man. A bully.”
Mariel hoped this confrontation would end soon. She must decide how to stop working for this man. There was more to consider than just wanting to distance herself from this bully. Would she be allowed to travel as a single woman now that the Ranger led the party?
“Son, why don’t you just let me finish the lesson this newcomer needs to learn so bad?” the Ranger’s father asked. “He looks like the stubborn kind.”
And then Herr Heller proved just how cowardly he was. He cursed the Texans in Low German, then stalked away.
Mariel sent grateful looks toward the men who had defended her.
The little sister murmured, “You’re safe now.” Sugar nodded in agreement.
Mariel tried to smile but failed. She was glad of their support, yet humiliated that she needed it. “I must go…help my mistress. But I come…if Mrs. Quinn calls.”
Sugar frowned and looked to her brother. “Shouldn’t Mariel stay here?”
Mariel shook her head. “No, I—”
“Yes, Miss Mariel should stay as long as Mother needs her,” the Ranger interrupted her.
Mariel closed her eyes, pressing down her continuing embarrassment. I must find a way to get free from Herr Heller. And soon.
Deadened with fatigue, Dorritt was grateful that deep night, with its promise of rest, had come at last. The tent was silent except for the labored breathing and restless sleep of her three patients. Her two precious daughters slept in the tent too. She had sent the young German woman called Mariel away for the night. Carson had escorted her. Dorritt shook her head. Even before Carson had confronted the big German, she’d noted his interest in the girl. Was this a blessing or a curse?
She sighed, the sound loud in the peaceful tent. Ever since she had arrived at Buena Vista, her family’s plantation, she had been weighed down by bone-deep guilt. Why had she put her family through the torment of visiting her family plantation, where they were always treated as inferiors? She pushed a stray hair away from her face. Why had she put them all through this?
Now, through the slightly open tent flap, she glimpsed Carson sitting at the campfire with Emilio and Quinn, engaged in low conversation. The camp around them was quiet. The canvas shelter was several yards away, and the German families had all stilled, having settled in for the night.
Emilio rose. “I think I will turn in. Will we try to travel tomorrow?”
Quinn snorted. “Doubt it. My wife won’t budge till the woman and her sons are well enough to travel. We’re not in any hurry to get back to the ranch. Ash has everything in hand. I just miss my own bed.”
Why did I insist on my way? Sitting on the ground, Dorritt wrapped her arms around her bent knees. She hoped Quinn would linger by the fire with Carson until it wasn’t obvious how upset she was. Her family had caused Quinn enough trouble over her in recent days.
Emilio wished the other men a buenas noches and left. Quiet fell again. In the wikiup, Dorritt blew out the oil lamp. All alone, she rested her head in the nest of her arms. She didn’t have to see her son’s face to feel his dejection, his hurting. Before they’d gone to her niece’s wedding, she hadn’t known that Carson had been the object of Blanche’s flirting. Blanche had the same vain and selfish character as her mother, Jewell. And Carson had let nothing slip at home of his fascination with Blanche.
“Son, how long are you going to stare into that cup?” Quinn asked, breaking the silence.
Dorritt looked up, as did Carson.
“Spit it out, son.”
The frogs in the nearby creek were singing their night chant, and a mourning dove was cooing overhead in one of the trees. All human sounds had ceased. Dorritt hoped her husband could offer some comfort to their son. But what of Sugar, who’d also suffered because of Dorritt’s insistence they go to her family? How could she also make it up to her daughter?
Carson cleared his throat. “I’ve had a lot to think about since I left Buena Vista—”
“Don’t you mean escaped?” Quinn said with a touch of humor.
“I’m glad I went to the wedding,” Carson said, surprising Dorritt.
Why had he said that? Being glad about going to the wedding made as much sense as being glad about upsetting a wasp’s hive. Dorritt didn’t usually eavesdrop, but she needed to know this.
“I don’t know how Henri LaCroix stands his family,” Quinn said. “He’s the best of men. We see eye to eye on most things except for his owning slaves.”
Dorritt nodded to herself. Her sister’s husband, Henri, was a good man and an exceedingly patient one. Yet his wife and daughter were the kind of women who could drive any sane man crazy.
“What’s eating you, son?”
Dorritt knew what was eating her son. She also knew that she had unwittingly fostered his trouble. If she had broken with her family years ago, when she’d married Quinn, her children would never have been exposed to such contempt and small-mindedness. Like a hawk tearing, shredding its prey, this realization ripped apart Dorritt’s accustomed peace.
Carson tapped his coffee cup on his knee. “Everything. I mean, now Texas is part of the U.S. I know most Texians wanted this, but I’m not sure.”
Quinn grunted in response. “You know how I feel about becoming U.S. territory. Your mother and I settled in western Texas to keep our distance from the Anglos. Most of the time I’d rather deal with renegade Mescaleros, Comanche, and the odd Mexican bandido than slave-owning whites. Yet what can we do about the annexation? It’s fact now.”
Dorritt listened harder; Quinn rarely spoke this much at one time. She pressed her wet cheek against the top of her knees, resting her head.
Carson said nothing, just stared at the low orange flames.
Quinn went on, “Texas doesn’t have two gold reals to rub to
gether. Without Sam Houston, we’d be in sorrier shape than we are. If we hadn’t gotten annexed by the U.S., Britain or some other nation would have snapped us up like a gator swallowing a stray hog. In ’36, you and I fought and defeated the Mexicans only because Santa Anna was a bad general and the government in Mexico City was so unstable. Even now it’s the same.”
Carson said, “Mexico isn’t going to like the annexation.”
Dorritt had lived too long not to know where Texas was headed—toward another war. In Texas, there were three main peoples. First were several Indian tribes like the Comanche, Karankawa, and Apache. Then came the Tejanos, descendants of the Spanish colonists and native tribes. And last to arrive were the Angloamericanos. It wasn’t a happy mix, since Anglos saw all darker-skinned people as inferior. A few Tejanos, like Joseph Navarre, had won the respect of the Anglos, but that was rare. Now war would burst upon them again. Mexicans south of the Rio Grande River had never forgiven Anglos or the Tejanos who’d fought with Sam Houston for beating Santa Anna and “stealing” Texas from Mexico. Mexican pride spurred them to fight against any incursion of Anglos or Americans. Dorritt squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them. Shutting one’s eyes to truth was never wise.
Quinn shrugged. “Mexico hasn’t liked anything about Texas since your mother and I came in 1821. We try not to take it personal,” he teased. “The Mexicans still think they can push the Anglos back.” He shook his head, the low light gleaming on the gray hairs among the dark ones still worn in one long tail.
Dorritt recalled the scornful glances the Anglos at Blanche’s wedding had cast at her husband’s “Indian” hair. So why, when Carson had become a Ranger, had she encouraged her son to stop at the family home whenever he was in that part of Texas? That had allowed Blanche to work her mischief.
The pull of family ties was one of those funny things in her life. Why had it been so important to her to display her family in their best to her sister’s family and their friends? Especially when being with her family gave Dorritt no pleasure? And her family didn’t have the wit to recognize that the life Dorritt had was superior to what they possessed.
Dorritt shook her head at her own pride. Had it just been her conceit, her desire to show off? Had she put those she loved most through a week of veiled ridicule for her own vanity?
“Do you think it will mean war with Mexico?” Carson asked.
“Didn’t you listen to those West Point graduates at the wedding?” Quinn’s tone was sardonic. “They were champing at the bit to kill a few Mexicans for America. Get their pretty white gloves red with blood.”
Blanche had married a graduate of West Point. Images of their blue uniforms with their gold buttons, the drawn sabers over the wedding couple, squirmed through Dorritt’s mind, troubling her. We should have stayed at home and enjoyed the last of our peace together.
A nearby bullfrog began bellowing his mating song. “So are we going to discuss Blanche or not?” Quinn said the words matter-of-factly. He had put into words the matter that tortured Carson most, Dorritt feared.
Carson didn’t reply right away. And then he asked, “Why did she play up to me, Pa?”
His father made a sound that was half chuckle, half snort of derision. “Just for the fun of it. Cutting her teeth on a Texas Ranger.”
Quinn’s words cast all the past images of Blanche in a blinding and unflattering light. And the worst of it was that Blanche, as heartless as her mother Jewell, didn’t know and didn’t care about the suffering she caused. Didn’t know and didn’t care that the man, that soldier she had married was far beneath Carson, whom she’d ensnared and then scorned.
“Was that it? Because I’m a Ranger?” Carson asked.
His father nodded, sipping more coffee. “And I’ll bet none of her fine friends were around when you visited…”
Dorritt pressed her temples, wishing she could rub out the memories of the troubled faces of those she loved. Father, forgive my pride. My sister and her daughter are beyond comprehending how sad, how wrong their behavior toward others is.
The bullfrog, mourning dove, and the rush of the water in the nearby Colorado River filled in the silence as Dorritt let regret roll through her.
“I’m going to turn in, Pa. I’m sorry I’ve involved you in my leading these Germans to their land. I mean, my ma shouldn’t have to take care of these people.”
“Your mother’s good heart is the joy of my life.” Quinn also rose. “And, considering the family she came from, a true miracle from the God who loves us and can save us, even from annexation.”
Dorritt smiled. Then she thought of the woman Mariel, whose face was sweet and so pretty. And whom Carson appeared to be protecting. Had God already provided a consolation for her son?
Carson turned and hugged his father. Quinn embraced him tightly, slapping him twice on the back. After years living among mostly Tejanos southwest of San Antonio, her family had adopted their fondness for embracing and showing affection. Neither she nor Quinn had been raised to show such emotion. Heartened by this show of affection, Dorritt scrambled toward her bedroll so the men wouldn’t know she had been observing them. Quinn would be coming in now.
She lay on her side and feigned sleep. Quinn came in and slid down beside her, folding her into his arms. His breath tickled the nape of her neck. And slowly his embrace strengthened her, relaxing her so that she fell into sleep.
Sometime later she awoke. Something had alerted her. She sat up and instantly realized what had happened. Across from her, the feverish woman twitched and moaned.
Quickly Dorritt got to her knees and crept to the woman’s side. A touch told her that the fever was worse than ever.
“What is it?” Quinn murmured. “Is she worse?”
“Yes. Pray.” Dorritt began loosening the woman’s clothing and reached for the alcohol, all other thoughts driven from her mind.
Two days later, Mariel stood with the whole party and watched Frau Braun’s pine coffin being lowered into a grave in the prairie outside of town. No one spoke.
Mariel had not been a close friend of this poor woman. Yet her death affected Mariel like an amputation. This was the first death in their party. It diminished them all in some indefinable way. Was it because they feared that they might be the next to lie lifeless in a rough greenwood coffin? Maybe that was why no one could speak.
Mariel did not know why, but the Quinn family had chosen to cluster around her. Sugar and Erin stood near, one on each side of her. Erin took her elbow. The little girl was endearing and a bit lonely, the only child among adults. And even facing forward, Mariel was aware of the Ranger’s presence behind her. She willed herself not to betray her awareness to anyone.
Surprisingly, Tunney spoke. “Father in heaven, receive the soul of this lady. It’s hard to understand why she came so far just to die. It’s a hard life here. Yet we know that the dead will rise first when your Son returns for us. The Lord giveth; the Lord taketh. Blessed be the name of the Lord. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.”
Then he began shoveling the dirt onto the coffin. A few of the other men joined in, while the rest watched as if numb. When the last shovelful of dirt had been tossed in, everyone began to drift away.
Hesitating, Mariel made a point not to look for Herr Heller. She knew that she couldn’t bear him to be close to her now. The thought of his vulgar touch or boorish manners made her queasy. Worse, she feared that she would no longer be able to hold back the words that expressed why she despised him—bully, coward, rogue.
Sugar took her hand as Mrs. Quinn said, “You must feel no guilt, Mariel. You did everything you could to help me try to save her.”
Mariel nodded, unable to speak. Why was she so near tears?
“Why don’t you come and share a cup of coffee with us?” Mrs. Quinn invited.
“Yes, come with us,” Erin agreed. “I like to hear you talk.”
Their kindness and friendliness undid her. Mariel didn’t know how long she could hold back the tears that
weren’t for Frau Braun but for herself. She must not allow herself to become attached to these Texians. They would leave her with her own people soon enough. “I wish…be alone. I come later. Bitte? Please?”
Mrs. Quinn nodded, and Sugar released her hand. The Quinn family and Tunney walked back toward the caravan. Erin trailed behind them, looking back at Mariel with unhappy eyes. Tears began dripping down Mariel’s face. She hurried farther into the surrounding grove of oaks and lush evergreens. Leaning against the rough trunk of an ancient oak, she let herself feel the sorrow, feel the pain of being alone, always alone. She wept for Frau Braun and the husband and two little boys the woman had left behind. Wept for herself, for the forlorn life she had lived in Germany even before her husband had died. She wept over the hard life here, hard miles still ahead.
Would she also die along the way? Or would she find what she had always been looking for—a place in the heart of some good man and a home of her own and children to love? It was difficult to keep hoping when—
Without warning, she was grabbed from behind. A hand clamped over her mouth. She clawed at it but couldn’t pry the fingers off. A voice she knew well growled in her ear. “No one is coming to help you this time, Liebchen.” Herr Heller. His tone was an insult. “Now I’m going to make you pay for your disobedience, your making eyes at that Ranger. And I’m going to enjoy doing it.”
He began pulling up her skirt as he forced her down to the earth. She screamed into his hand. He grinned when no sound came forth. She struggled, but his strength overpowered her with ease.
It was hard to breathe. She began to feel woozy, queasy. The haze of terror returned. She couldn’t see clearly, and…
With a groan Herr Heller released her. Her half-closed eyes flew open.
The Ranger had come out of nowhere. He yanked Heller up by the front of his shirt and flung him back against the tree behind them. Heller bounced against it, then rushed him.
The Ranger moved out of the way. As Heller stumbled past him, the Ranger struck a blow. Heller groaned again. Still, he turned and charged again. The Ranger shoved a fist up under Heller’s chin, knocking his head back. And then the Ranger rained blows onto Heller—chin, eye, gut, chin, eye.