by Lyn Cote
“Well, first of all to apologize for not recognizing you in Taylor’s office. Pardon me, but you do look a bit different there than you did at my wedding.”
Carson considered this. It was true. Niven had not looked as if he had recognized him.
Niven offered his hand.
And Carson shook it. “What can I do for you?”
“I’ve gotten the general’s permission to ask if I can come along on your scouting trip.”
The request left Carson speechless at first. The Rangers around him sat up and turned to gawk at the man. “You what?”
Niven grinned. “May we talk a moment in private?” He motioned for Carson to come with him toward the nearby creek.
Carson nodded. His curiosity was piqued. What was this man up to?
Niven led him to the creek bank. The evening shadows were long now. “I’m sorry that my brother-in-law gave you the cut direct today.”
Carson raised an eyebrow.
“He recognized you and snubbed you in public. It’s a serious social faux pas. I hope you weren’t too insulted.”
“It took me by surprise. Quite frankly, I would rather it wasn’t generally known that this dandy and I are family.”
Niven laughed aloud. “Good one. LaCroix is younger than we and he still has that tender pride. I heard at the wedding that you were a longtime Ranger and that your father was a notable scout, just the kind of men I’d hoped to meet in the West. I wanted to have time to get to know you, but my duties as the happy groom didn’t give me much time. And then you took off early.”
Carson continued walking along the sluggish creek with Niven.
“No doubt you’re wanting me to get to the point.” Niven halted. “So here it is. I intend to make the military my career, and I intend to go as high as I’m able. This war with Mexico is fortuitous, since it gives me a chance for quick promotion but—”
“What?” Halting, Carson propped his hands on his hips. So this newlywed thought that this war was “fortuitous” ? Hadn’t he been unhappy to leave his bride? For Carson, leaving Mariel had been…
Niven nodded, continuing, “As I have looked further into the U.S. future, I believe it will be dominated by Western expansion. Therefore, I think that primarily I will be given commands that put me in conflict with the native tribes. So in order to stay alive and continue to climb through the ranks, I need to know as much as I can about them and how to fight them.”
In the lowering light, Carson looked at the man. He had never met the like before. “So you are a man of ambition?” Carson commented dryly.
“Yes. I am.”
Carson started walking again along the creek bank, thinking about what Niven had just revealed about himself. Niven kept in step with him. What was he to think of a man with such ambitions? And was Niven right about the future? “So this war is fortuitous?”
“To me, yes.”
“What did your bride think of it?” Carson watched Niven. His cousin Blanche wouldn’t like a husband who wouldn’t make her the center of his life.
Niven shrugged. “She married me knowing she was marrying a military man. I didn’t ask her what she thought. It was a stroke of good fortune that my wedding in Texas coincided with this war’s start. I might have been left out of it, but I actually came west with Taylor and got leave for the wedding. Yes, I’d say things have worked out better than I could possibly have hoped.”
I didn’t ask her what she thought. Carson wondered if Blanche was still savoring her social coup of marrying the son of a U.S. congressman. Carson had rarely met such blatant ambition and arrogance as this man possessed. “Well, I’m so glad you didn’t have to come to Texas just to get married.” Carson couldn’t resist a touch of sarcasm. He stopped and turned toward Niven, then folded his arms. “So you think you need to learn how to fight Indians.”
“I do. Will you teach me?”
Carson rubbed the back of one hand over his new beard. “I’m a man who likes to think things over if possible.”
“You will be leaving tomorrow. I need a decision before then.”
Carson sidestepped the issue with, “Ben McCulloch is in charge, not me.”
Niven remained undeterred. “If you are convinced I can go along, you will ask him in a way that leads him to look on my request with favor.”
Might as well be honest. “You’re a tenderfoot, a greenhorn to the West. There are so many things that we’ve all learned as children that you lack. How can I teach you things like that when I’m trying to do my job and stay alive?”
Niven inclined his head as if ceding the point to Carson. “All I can say is that I will be at your and McCulloch’s command.”
Carson drew his lips back in a silent snarl. I don’t want you with me. He breathed in cool night air. “Look at your clothes. You couldn’t come along dressed like that.”
“I’ve already had a buckskin outfit made.”
“You what?” Carson’s shoulder hunched up.
“There are still some Cherokee in the hills near my home in Virginia. An old woman made me buckskins of deer I brought down. So will you ask McCulloch if I may go with you?”
Twelve
Carson chewed the inside of his cheek. Then he started walking. Why should he think this over? It would be McCulloch’s decision. Carson headed back; Niven hurried after him. They reached the low campfire, and Carson led Niven right to McCulloch. “Ben, this is Niven. He just married my first cousin Blanche in San Felipe. He has something he wants to ask you.” Carson moved out of the scant firelight.
Niven stepped forward, a smile on his face and his hand out. “Good to meet you again, sir.”
McCulloch shook Niven’s hand but said nothing.
“I’m a career military man and want to gain some experience in scouting and dealing with native tribes and Mexicans. General Taylor has given me permission to request you let me go with you tomorrow.”
“So?” McCulloch challenged.
“So may I go with your scouts?”
Carson had to give Niven credit. He knew what he wanted and wasn’t afraid to go after it.
“Looking to make your bride a widow fast, are you?” McCulloch’s voice was harsh.
“I know I’m inexperienced in frontier warfare and that’s why I want to go with you.”
McCulloch stared into Niven’s face. “No.”
“That is your final word?”
Carson tried to be fair, but he sensed the men around him weren’t impressed with Niven’s request either.
McCulloch half-turned away. “Yes, a tenderfoot could get us killed. This war is too important to the safety of the people of Texas, and that’s what we care about.”
Niven bowed his head. “Perhaps another time?”
McCulloch grunted.
Niven turned to Carson, a smile still on his face. “Nice talking to you. Good luck.” They shook hands. Niven walked away into the darkness.
Carson was surprised and uneasy. He hadn’t expected Niven to give up without argument. He looked to McCulloch and shrugged.
“You got some interesting kin, Carson,” McCulloch observed.
Carson could only agree with him. As he settled down by the campfire, he hoped he wouldn’t turn around and find any other interesting relatives popping up with strange requests.
The next afternoon, Mariel walked beside Mrs. Quinn on their way to the corral. The bright June sun dazzled her eyes. She had slept very little last night. Images of Carson had kept her awake. She had not realized that she had memorized his every expression, every movement. His low voice repeated in her mind. And the memory of his tender kisses had become an ache within.
“I’m glad you were free to ride out with me,” Mrs. Quinn said, sounding strained. “I’m restless. I had a hard time sleeping.”
“I need practice riding,” Mariel said.
“Does that mean you are serious about leaving with Reva and Ash?”
Blessedly interrupting them, a vaquero led two horses to the ladies and helped
them mount. Mariel took a deep breath and settled herself into the saddle. Being up so high off the earth still bothered her. She stiffened her spine and her determination. She pressed her legs inward, and the well-mannered mare started off at a gentle pace. If only she could gentle her own nerves. She sensed that Mrs. Quinn had invited her along to question her.
They had barely left the rancho yard when Mrs. Quinn said, “I want to discuss you and Sugar going south with Ash and the others.”
Mariel rippled with alarm. Did she have the courage to speak with honesty to this lady? She did. “I want to go to Carson. I have never want anything more in my life.”
“We were all so happy,” Mrs. Quinn murmured.
Mariel had an idea of what Mrs. Quinn was referring to. Life was like that. A person just started to think that she could bear life as it was. And then it got worse. And one had to learn to deal with it all over again. She once again recalled her mother’s advice: Life is what it is.
Of course, that wasn’t exactly what Mrs. Quinn was referring to. Somehow the Quinns had carved out a different kind of life than other people. In Mariel’s experience, most people—unlike the Quinns—were busy trying to gain wealth or social standing or political power. “You have a happy family. It is just war has come.”
Mrs. Quinn drew in a long breath. “I don’t want Reva and Ash to leave us for good. I don’t want my daughter and Emilio to go to the war. I don’t want you to go. But I will not stand in the way of any of you. What right do I have? All of you are of age. And free.”
That was true, but…“I do not want you to think I do not appreciate what you do for me.”
“What I did for you was for our benefit too. Just watch over Sugar for me. She is still fragile. I don’t want…I don’t want her hurt more.”
“I will.” The promise welled up from deep inside. Mariel longed to repay this lady for her kindness.
“Now let’s practice your riding skills. Pick up the pace.” Mrs. Quinn nudged her horse, and it jogged forward.
Heart quickening, Mariel followed her example and tried not to take fright as the horse under her moved faster. Her stomach skittered. Would she really be able to ride a horse all the way to where Carson was stationed?
But she had no choice. She knew she could do anything, would do anything to be with Carson again. And her heart raced faster than before.
The day after Niven’s request, Carson and the rest of the twenty Rangers headed out to find the Mexican Army and choose the best route for engaging them. The Rangers left camp just as Taylor’s army was bedding down for the night. The grasslands of Texas and Mexico offered very little cover, so they would travel by night. And riding would be cooler under the moon.
Within the first mile of camp, Carson, riding beside McCulloch, tried to ignore his feeling of ill ease and irritation. Something had cropped up that neither of them had expected.
McCulloch glanced at Carson, asking silently for his opinion about what to do with their uninvited guest. Carson made a face but gave one barely noticeable shrug. And then it was just the riding, covering miles till daybreak. They guessed the Mexican Army under Arista was probably miles deeper within Mexico.
As they rode through the moonlight, he took in the lay of the land. Over most of it, soldiers would be able to march abreast. Carson wondered what an army of thousands marching would look like. Memories of the brief battle of San Jacinto didn’t help much. The Mexican Army had fled that day, not marched forward with bugles blaring. As Carson and his horse moved as one creature, he forgot everything else but the job at hand.
Finally, the dawn gleamed golden pink eastward behind them. McCulloch directed his horse closer to a creek they had been following, a tributary of the Rio Grande. Amid the trees and low green growth at the creek bank, they all dismounted and then turned as one to watch the presence every one of them had been aware of throughout the long night.
Carson’s exasperation spiked inside him. Evidently, Blanche’s husband matched her in egotism. Carson would enjoy watching McCulloch’s reaction. He folded his hands and hooked a thumb over his belt buckle.
Niven rode up to them.
McCulloch said not a word, only motioned for the soldier to dismount and come to him. Niven did so, his expression a mixture of apprehension and cockiness.
Again, McCulloch said nothing, just waited. Then he slammed his fist into Niven’s jaw. The American went down. “You disobey me again I’ll cut off your right earlobe, got it?”
Carson waited to see what the American would say. The sound of the knuckles against jawbone had been sharp and painful-sounding. And very satisfying to hear.
Niven remained on the ground, rubbing his jaw and studying McCulloch. “Got it, sir.”
“We don’t do much ‘sir’-ing. Stick to Carson and do what either of us tells you to. And if you get killed, it’s on your head, not ours. We didn’t invite you to come along.”
Carson stared down at Niven, then, sliding from his saddle, offered him his hand. Niven took it. Niven had sense enough not to say anything in self-justification. Maybe the greenhorn wasn’t a total loss.
Waiting in front of their hacienda in the morning sun, Dorritt stood beside her husband of over twenty years. His strengthening presence was the only thing keeping her from sliding limply down to the dry, sandy earth. I will not cry and make this harder for Reva. But if Amos and Nancy didn’t arrive soon, her good intention might not be possible.
Erin had hidden her face in Dorritt’s skirt, refusing to look at or speak to anyone. Reva had been a second mother to Erin. And today Erin, who had already lost Carson, would now lose Reva, her sister, and Mariel too. Dorritt’s sympathy for Erin, her last chick still in the nest, irritated her like nettles. And made this parting all the harder.
Everyone who lived on the rancho had come to bid farewell to Ash and Reva. They’d also come to see off Amos and Nancy, who’d settled at nearby Rancho Sandoval; they would be leaving with the party. Mariel and Sugar, wearing the dark split skirts, long-sleeved white blouses, and Western-style full-brimmed hats, also waited, also ready to leave for the war. Emilio stood next to his bride, and his family had come too. Everyone tried to break the heavy silence with smiles and hope-filled expressions. But every face spoke of the pain of parting.
Ash beside her, Reva stood near Dorritt. “I will write you,” Reva was saying. “Ash’s cousins often go between San Antonio and Laredo on business. They will stop here and take messages south. They been doing that for us and Antonio.”
Dorritt nodded. “I’ll write too.” The words hurt her throat but had to be said.
Ash stared at the ground, his hands in his pockets.
Quinn looked to the eastern horizon.
Then the wagon came into view, and everyone turned to look at it. Dorritt felt relief. The agony of parting would soon end, though the mourning of loss would follow…and linger.
Soon, Amos and Nancy halted their wagon beside Ash’s and climbed down. Now two wagons loaded and covered with brown canvas stood in front of the ranch house. Now the farewells would begin. Coming in turn, men shook hands and women kissed cheeks. Everyone embraced those leaving. Finally, all the exchanges of affection had been fulfilled. Save one.
Quinn, who had held back, stepped forward. “Vaya con Dios, mi amigo.”
Large tears slid down Ash’s face, down the folds in his weathered skin. “Vaya con Dios, mi amigo.” The two men embraced, slapping each other’s backs.
Watching Quinn say good-bye to his oldest friend, the man who had helped raise him, nearly took Dorritt to her knees. Erin was weeping harder into Dorritt’s skirt. The sound shredded her heart.
Ash turned and helped Reva onto the buckboard seat. Amos and Nancy climbed onto their wagon. Emilio helped Sugar and Mariel mount, then swung into his saddle. Waving and calling more words of farewell, they all turned away and started off at a quick pace.
Erin broke away from her mother. “Sugar! Be safe! Miss Mariel, keep safe! And come back! I
want you to come back! Soon!”
Sugar turned her horse around and came back to Erin. Then Sugar bent down and touched her little sister’s cheek. “I will, sweetheart. Don’t worry. We’ll all come back and bring Carson as soon as we can.” Sugar spurred her horse, and the travelers headed toward the southern horizon.
Dorritt and Quinn pulled Erin close and hugged her, holding in their own grief as they comforted and reassured her. The crowd began to drift away. Emilio’s family said their good-byes and headed home. The somber mood still hung in the dry, bright air.
Dorritt once again marveled at the life God had blessed her with. And she prayed silently for Reva and Ash to reach Antonio, for her children’s safety and quick return. The humble shall inherit the earth; and shall delight themselves in the abundance of peace. Peace, what a wonderful promise. Yet so elusive in Texas, in this place that was home.
On the third hot, miserable night west from Point Isabel, just after nightfall, Carson saw a band of armed Mexican civilians ahead. An unlucky meeting. His pulse leaped in his veins. McCulloch glanced sideways to Carson. The glance said: “Attack.” Carson nodded once, bracing himself for what he’d come south to do, to fight and kill.
The approaching adversary was also primed and ready. They rode straight at the Rangers. “Quien vive?” they shouted as they charged, “Who will live?”
McCulloch roared without words, spurring his mustang forward. Carson slid his rifle down. He shot one Mexican off his horse. He let the rifle dangle, slid one Walker Colt .45 into his hand. The fighting was hand to hand. The gritty smoke of gunpowder. Grunts as fists, lead hit flesh and bone. Shrieks of fury—pain. More gunfire.
Carson emptied one Colt and slid his other out of his belt. He got off two more shots. Then the remnant of Mexicans was galloping away. Some Rangers gave chase. Carson suddenly thought of Niven. Where was the tenderfoot?
Reining in his horse, Carson spun around. Niven was down near the rear, though, still holding the reins to his horse. Carson rode over to him and slid from the saddle. “Are you all right?”
Niven turned his head and vomited.
Carson turned away and let the man recover himself. Carson was accustomed to this kind of skirmish. He didn’t even think anymore of the way a bullet could rip flesh and uncap a dam of blood. He didn’t even think. He just shot and kept shooting till it ended. I don’t have to think anymore. The thought went down like swallowing cactus.