by Lyn Cote
She hadn’t loved Dieter, but she would never have wished such a lonely, shameful death on anyone. Now the image of Carson riding off and being killed far away in a war emptied the breath from her. Mein Gott, nein, bitte, nein. The rest of her grandmother’s verses came back to her, “But the humble shall inherit the earth; and shall delight themselves in the abundance of peace….” Abundance of peace seemed far from them. Could the war pass them by?
Nine
The midnight breeze was cool on Carson’s face. With his head down and his hands in his pockets, he walked with Emilio through the dark, quiet streets of sleeping San Antonio. A sweet scent of oleander alerted him that they were nearing the posada, with all its flowers. The deceptive peace of the setting contrasted with the restless flame inside him. A war was coming. Or might have actually started.
“Will you go to war?” Emilio said, halting just inside the glow of the oil lamp burning in the large arched window beside the posada entrance.
Carson turned the question back on Emilio. “Are you so sure that the U.S. Army will want the Rangers or need us?” Remembering Blanche’s brother’s scorn added a layer of sarcasm to his words. “We’re just Indian fighters. What do we know of war?”
“You know of war firsthand,” Emilio pointed out.
Carson shrugged this dart away, trying to ignore the shifting currents within. “San Jacinto lasted around eighteen minutes. That’s all I know of war.” All I ever wanted to know.
“Yes, and why would the U.S. Army want me, who they would see not as a loyal Tejano but as a Mexican?” Emilio let his irritation color his tone. “I am sure I am not white enough for General Taylor.”
Dampened, Carson said nothing. Eyebrows had been raised when Emilio, a Tejano, had joined the Rangers. But Jack Hays had been a fair man, who had let Emilio show him what he could do with a horse, lariat, gun, and knife.
Emilio asked, “Why did Señora Quinn ask the German widow to come to your rancho?”
Carson’s whole body clenched, remembering those kisses he’d shared with Mariel. He did not reply.
For once, Emilio did not push for an answer. “We must get to bed,” Emilio said, linking his arm in Carson’s and drawing him into the inn. Carson let himself be pulled along—though he feared he might lie awake all night, thinking of war, thinking of Mariel.
The innkeeper sat nodding in a chair by the door almost asleep. Without a word, he got up and dropped a bar across the inn door. Then he lifted a lamp and carried it high as the three of them climbed the stairs. At the door of Carson and Emilio’s room, he lit a candle in a pewter holder and offered it to them. They both wished him a quiet “Buenas noches.” The innkeeper nodded and walked away with the lamp.
Lifting the candle holder high, Carson let Emilio enter first. He paused and cast a glance at the door of the room where his sisters and Mariel were no doubt sound asleep. Then he turned his back and entered the room. What would come, would come. Until events took shape, he would go home and forget the war. And think of the pretty fair-haired widow—if he dared.
On the third day since arriving at the Quinn home, Mariel still felt as if she was living in a waking dream. The Quinns’ sprawling one-story log ranch house was a place filled with sunlight and laughter, so different from any she had ever known. She had noticed that now that Sugar was in her own home again, she had either forgotten or had been able to put away her distress over her unknown family. This didn’t surprise Mariel. She too had trouble recalling how miserable her last few days in New Braunfels had been. Here, the past lost its sting. Still, something bothered her. Sitting at the large round table in the main room of the house at breakfast this warm May morning, she had to ask the question she had been worrying about since she’d arrived here. She wouldn’t feel right until she did.
“Emilio should return around noon with his parents,” Sugar murmured, interrupting Mariel’s thoughts. “They will want to…” Her voice faltered as she blushed.
“As is the Spanish custom, he’ll want to formally ask for your hand,” Quinn finished for her.
Mariel finished the last bite of her scrambled eggs, which had been served with a spicy red sauce. She wondered if she’d ever get used to how the food tasted here. It was good, but so different. Just as it had been at the inn, she was expected to sit at the table with the family at meals. A maid came forward and whisked away Mariel’s plate. As she had expected, there were many servants here. Why am I not counted among them?
Mariel wondered at the haste of this wedding. Of course, the war to their south explained all. Something shriveled inside when Mariel thought of lighthearted Emilio and gallant Carson going away to face a faraway battle. Would they?
The meal was nearly over; the plates were being taken away, and everyone was sipping one last cup of coffee. Mariel must somehow persuade her new mistress to give her some duties so she didn’t feel so beholden. She had tried to broach this subject many times, but Mrs. Quinn always brushed it aside. Perhaps her mistress wouldn’t dismiss her question if she approached her when everyone was assembled. Mariel gathered her nerve.
When there was a lull in the conversation about the upcoming wedding, Mariel murmured, “Ma’am.” Too low. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Ma’am?”
Mrs. Quinn turned to Mariel with a smile. “Yes, Mariel?”
“I begin Erin’s lessons today, bitte?”
Erin jumped up. “It’s summer! I don’t have lessons in the summer!”
Mariel was shocked at the little girl’s lack of decorum. To set a good example, Mariel sought to discourage such behavior. “Erin,” she scolded in a whisper, “you must not speak that way to your mother.”
Quinn chuckled, as did the other men. Mariel blushed. How could she teach this girl how to behave when the other adults allowed her so much freedom? Of course she could not say this. That would be disrespectful of her.
“Mariel, we allow our children to speak and to express what they are feeling,” Mrs. Quinn said, laying her napkin beside her plate. “However, you are quite right that Erin shouldn’t speak with such heat. Erin, you may question us, but politely, please.”
Mariel kept her lips pursed together. She had always been taught that children were to be seen and not heard. Certainly that had been how she had spent her bleak childhood.
“I’m sorry, Mother, Father,” Erin said in a sweeter tone. “Will I be having lessons?”
Mariel said nothing. She was not Erin’s parent. What was it like to have parents who wanted to know what a child was thinking, feeling?
“Not regular lessons,” Mrs. Quinn replied. “But we want Mariel to teach you German as you go about with her.”
In light of all the Quinns had done for her, this seemed such a paltry duty. Mariel tried to think how to put this into polite words. And failed.
“That sounds like fun,” Erin said with a little hop. “I want to ride Sundown again today, and I want Mariel to go with me this time.”
Mariel nearly held up her hand to silence the child, but she didn’t. “I do not ride, Erin. I told you before.”
“Then you must learn,” Carson spoke up. “You will come out to the corral, and I’ll teach you how to ride a horse. Sugar, please loan Mariel one of your riding skirts.”
Mariel sent an appealing look to her mistress, but Dorritt nodded her approval along with Quinn. Though queasy at the thought of mounting such a large animal, Mariel forced herself to smile also.
The maids whisked the last of the dishes and linens from the table. Sugar led Mariel and Erin to her room, where she offered Mariel a dark navy blue heavy cotton skirt that had been split and sewn into two very wide legs. Mariel had never seen the like of it before.
“Mother came up with this idea.” Sugar grinned. “We wear riding habits if we ride off our own land. Just at home, these make more sense. And besides, if you haven’t ridden before, learning to ride sidesaddle would make it all much harder.”
Feeling numb, Mariel said nothing; she just exchanged the dres
s she was wearing for the white blouse and strange dark riding skirt Mrs. Quinn had designed. She also put on a leather hat and gloves. Yesterday, Mrs. Quinn and a seamstress had taken Mariel’s measurements, and another new dress—this time in the Anglo style—had been ordered. Mariel had offered to sew the dress herself, but she had been ignored. A cobbler on the ranch was also making Mariel a pair of short boots and a pair of sandals. Sandals—she’d never even seen or heard of this kind of shoe before. And now they expected her to ride a horse. Her nerves jittery, she took Erin’s hand and let the little girl lead her out to the corral.
Carson was there, waiting for them, leaning against the railing. He pulled at his hat brim politely, then motioned toward the horse on the other side of the railing. “I chose our gentlest mare. She won’t give you any trouble.”
Mariel knew that his encouraging tone and smile were meant to ease her fear. Their gentlest mare looked enormous even from this side of the fence. Mariel’s heart seemed to expand and contract. Erin tugged her around the side of the corral, and Carson lifted the bar holding the entry closed. The three of them entered.
“Erin, why don’t you go and saddle up Sundown?” Carson urged.
“But I want—”
“Go saddle up Sundown. Miss Mariel needs to learn this on her own. Without spectators.”
Erin grimaced but trotted toward the adjoining barn.
Mariel had noticed that while Erin was permitted to speak freely, she was not allowed to disobey an elder. That was good.
“All right, then, let’s get started,” he said as he led her into the corral. “You always mount on the left side, or ‘near side,’ of the horse. Gather the reins in your left hand, put your left foot in the stirrup”—he paused to touch the piece of metal hanging down from the saddle—“and be careful not to hit the horse with your right foot as you swing on.”
Mariel nodded, her mouth growing dryer by the moment.
“You only need to remember to sit straight and tall in the saddle, hold your reins steady and low, put the balls of your feet in the stirrups, and keep your heels low. All right?”
Mariel nodded again. Her ability to voice words had ended.
Then he lowered his arms and knit his fingers together like a stirrup. “Put your foot here and I’ll toss you into your saddle. It will make it easier for you at first. Be ready to swing your leg over.”
Mariel’s jaw had locked. She could not change her expression, so she nodded a third time, beginning to feel like a porcelain doll with a painted smile. She put her foot on his hands and—swoop—she was up and on the horse. The mare didn’t behave as if she’d even noticed that a person now sat astride her.
Light-headed, Mariel took deep, calming breaths. She felt very high up and very precarious perched in the saddle. Still, she tried to follow Carson’s instructions, straightening her spine, relaxing her arms so they were low and steady.
Carson went about tightening something around the horse and setting Mariel’s feet into stirrups. Then he adjusted them. “To start the horse walking, gently squeeze her with both legs.” She obeyed and the horse moved, making Mariel’s pulse jump ahead of the horse. Carson walked the mare around the corral a few times. He showed Mariel how to turn the horse and how to stop it by pulling—gently and evenly—on the reins.
And then he insisted that she do it on her own. The mare still felt huge underneath her, though her initial terror was giving way. The mare’s even pace and instant obedience were pumping up Mariel’s confidence.
Her heart slowed some, along with her breathing, though still not enough to make her comfortable. Then Carson whistled for his horse. Soon the three of them were riding at a walk—for Mariel’s sake—away from the hacienda. Soon Erin, on her pony, jogged ahead of them. As Mariel’s mare moved slowly and surely, she tried to get accustomed to the gentle rolling motion.
“You’re doing fine,” Carson said.
Mariel did not look directly at him. “I must seem stupid to you, sir.”
He grimaced and shook his head at her slip. No one here wanted to be called sir or madam. “I’m sure if I went to Germany, there would be things that you would need to teach me.”
She tried to imagine a man like Carson striding down the streets in Stuttgart. He didn’t fit that setting at all. Lately he had begun to tie his hair into the beginning of a tail at the back of his neck like his father. Why? It made him look more dangerous somehow. And different from the other Rangers, Tunney and Emilio. She gave up trying to guess his reason for this. “You would not like it in Germany, I think.”
“You mean they would not like me there, don’t you?”
She looked into his face then—a mistake, because he had such an endearing, teasing look in his eyes. She looked away quickly, her heart bouncing again. “There are good men in Germany too.”
“But not like me.”
She glanced at him. “This place…this Texas…this ranch…” She found it hard, in her limited English, to find words to express how she felt. “It is all so big.” These phrases were so inadequate. She hung her head.
“Yes, people from the East always say that. But I’m used to the open sky and the land without people for miles and miles. They also say it’s a lonely place. But it’s home to me.”
More than his words came through to her. “You love this place.”
“Yes, but…” He fell silent.
His hesitance broke her insecurity. Words that she had held back for many days came bubbling up to the surface. “I have never known a place like this, a family like yours. Your mother has been so kind to me. I want to help her, but she…tell me not what to do.” She closed her lips. She had said too much.
“My mother wanted you here to keep Erin company and teach her German and about Europe. That’s enough for you to do.”
“I can do more than that. I am used to working—”
Carson reached out and touched her arm. “We have plenty of other people who work in the house and in the fields or with cattle. My mother wanted you to do what they cannot. Erin is lonely, and soon Sugar will leave home.”
Before she could respond, he urged his horse forward. She nudged the mare to keep up with him. She still couldn’t feel right about doing so little for people who had done so much for her.
Then, without warning, he turned to look at her. “It’s best you put Germany behind you. And just take us as we are. You’re not a German woman anymore. You’re a Texas woman now.”
The truth of his words shimmered through her. Finally she comprehended this fully. She had told herself she was a Texas woman, yet she had still been expecting this place to be like her past. Texas was her future, so unlike her past, and she must fit this future.
Erin called over her shoulder for them to catch up. And Mariel felt herself beginning to grin. It is a beautiful day and I am riding a horse here in Texas. With Carson Quinn.
Wearing his best suit of black broadcloth, Carson stood on the front porch of his family’s hacienda, sheltered from the baking sun that hinted at the summer, now so near. Today was the final ceremonial visit to formalize Sugar’s wedding ceremony, only a week away. His starched white collar circled his throat, tight. Somehow worry had clotted in his throat beneath the constricting collar. He swallowed with difficulty. When would he and Emilio, the bridegroom, be called back to Ranging, back to fighting, back to war?
Followed by a black carriage, longtime family friends Scully and Alandra Falconer dismounted at the bottom of the porch steps. Alandra Sandoval Falconer, her dark hair crowned with a black mantilla, threw her arms around Carson, kissing him on both cheeks. Before she moved away, she whispered in his ear, “When will you take a bride and make us all happy?”
Fortunately for Carson, Scully, tall and blond, was there, shaking his hand. “This is a happy day, a very fine day.”
Carson nodded but couldn’t stop himself from glancing over his shoulder at Mariel, who stood by the door, wearing the turquoise Mexican-style dress from San Antoni
o. Her pale hair and skin, large blue eyes, and neat figure beckoned him irresistibly. Alandra followed his gaze and then had the nerve to cast him a knowing look.
Dorritt hurried out and hugged Alandra. “It is so good to see you on this special day. Both of you, I want you to meet our friend, Mariel Wolffe.”
Mariel curtseyed as the Falconers welcomed her to Texas. Carson noticed that as usual Mariel appeared embarrassed to be treated with what he considered common respect. It sparked his anger. He wanted to slam his fist into someone, but who? Who beside Heller had made her think less of herself than she ought?
Then from the carriage poured the Falconers’ five children. They rushed forward, giving and receiving and welcoming hugs and kisses. Carlos was eight, Dorritt was six, Desmond was four, Houston was two. The baby, Flora, only a few months old, was carried in her nurse’s arms. A cheerful hubbub reigned over all for a few minutes. Then Erin, the Falconer children, and their nurses drew away to play with all of the rancho’s children, who had gathered near the corral. The adults moved to the large great room.
Carson noted that Mariel tried to leave with the other nurses. His mother intercepted her, drawing her into the room. When his mother was distracted, Mariel slipped away to sit in a chair far from the center. Was that due to her unfamiliarity with his family’s unusual blending of Tejano and Anglo ways? If so, he was experiencing a similar feeling of disconnection from what was taking place. He belonged here but, anticipating the dreaded war, he already felt called away. He withdrew from the knot in the center of the room and sat down beside her. She looked horrified. “You must go there, by family,” she whispered, nodding toward his parents.
Carson slid into a comfortable position, his long legs out in front of him. Concentrating on Mariel distracted him from his growing sense of alienation. The fragrance of roses wafted to him. He breathed it in, along with Mariel’s fragrance, and imagined that—in all of Texas—only this wedding mattered, only sitting here beside this pretty woman mattered. His hand itched to smooth away a tendril of her hair that had slid from her bun and now hung below her small, pale pink ear.